


Make This Go On Forever (MTGOF Redux)

by darlingwrecks



Category: Grey's Anatomy
Genre: Anxiety, Babies, Cuddling, Depression, F/M, I miss these two dummies so much, Panic Attacks, Pregnancy, also some, and sex which i already mentioned but it’s these idiots so i feel like it warrants another mention, feelings and a baby, flawed wrecks, has no one on this show ever thought to lock the door, i almost respect her commitment to this, it wasn't a game, lol remember how shonda timelines have never ever made any sense, maddison - Freeform, plus smut, redheaded babies needs its own tag, rewriting things that are 13 years old, there is a lot of savvy and weiss in this as well at points, this is my brain on quarantine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-06
Updated: 2020-10-20
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:42:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 60
Words: 230,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26327323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darlingwrecks/pseuds/darlingwrecks
Summary: Mark/Addison, starting with the night Derek walks in on them.  It wasn't a game. It ends up being more. And it really is the most remarkable thing.I originally wrote this thirteen years ago (omg I am so old) on LiveJournal (under author callalily_love, and later stickypearls). Quarantine has led me to revisit/edit old works. Loyalty to the original version is primarily maintained (written before Private Practice was underway), and any significant changes will be explained along the way in Notes.
Relationships: Addison Montgomery/Mark Sloan
Comments: 35
Kudos: 31





	1. Smoke and Ashes

**Chapter 1: Smoke and Ashes**  
  
It was not sudden. If nothing else, Addison knows this; growing apart rather than growing together, and determining she is now married to a tangible ghost was a slow, unexpected progression. _Possibly the disconnect started around the nine, nine-and-a-half-year mark_ , she thinks, but is not certain. And in any case, the exact moment she could feel Derek’s indifference start to tumble in her direction does not matter.  
  
It is Derek’s actions that matter. The _absence_ of his actions, really. The absence of _him_. He spends more time at the hospital than at home, more time sleeping in a rickety on-call room bed than burrowed next to her on their Italian sheets with taupe-swirling paisleys. The touches cease, the plans cease, the check-in text messages cease, and those three special words are rarely uttered, and when they are, they sound depressingly hollow.   
  
Anniversaries and birthdays aren’t forgotten, not exactly, but work-related conflicts occur and assurances they will make it up later by means of a Hamptons weekend or brown-bagging it on top of the Empire State Building never comes to fruition. Addison knows her frustration over special dates rocketing past them isn’t _quite_ fair because there _are_ flowers or gifts from him (nothing that would require much thought though) on the days she considers important; however, coming downstairs to find paper-wrapped roses but not seeing the purchaser anywhere in the home makes the gesture less meaningful. And on the days and nights Derek is home, he might as well not be there. She kisses him softly, and lets her mouth linger against his when they’re in bed, but most of the time he’s just not interested. _Too tired, early surgery tomorrow, long day, headache, waiting for an update from the on-call resident, not feeling so great_. She at least has to give Derek some credit for scraping together different word variations each time for what she knows to be the real reason: _I don’t want to, Addison_.   
  
The emotional absence has crept in as well. He doesn’t want to talk. Or listen. Conversation used to be easy. When they were dating, and during the first few years of their marriage, they could talk for hours about anything and genuinely enjoyed each other’s company. Not anymore. The loneliness weighs heavy in her chest, sometimes forcing her to inhale more deeply than she normally would. And, not exactly a candidate for marital sainthood herself, Addison knows that _she_ makes things worse sometimes by needling Derek just to bait him into an argument about something that isn’t even the issue; however, existing in this non-fairytale for quite some time has taught her that acting calm and rational and sugary-sweet isn’t doing shit. She hoped Derek might respond to her, display any sort of attentiveness on the occasions where her voice climbed up and her words became snarly and cruel, but that did not work either. Nothing works.  
  
She has been trying very, very hard for at least a year now, if not longer; there are limitations to endurance though. Tolerating the distance and excuses is starting to hurt too much. She is busy and successful, just like him, perhaps even a bit more, but at least she is _here_ and willing to do her part to help them claw their way out of the unhappiness that has become the fabric of their union. Counseling, she considers, is the logical next step, though they will certainly both hate it.  
  
Monday. Brand new week. Side-by-side in the elevator, just the two of them, going up to their respective floors. Addison smiled when she caught up with him near the coffee cart, and he smiled back and said hello and gave her a perfunctory, quick peck on the cheek (she has started to resent this), but there is still no denying Derek’s overall apathy when they step into the elevator. She asks a few questions about the emergency surgery last night that led to him sleeping at Bellevue, but then they slip into silence. Procedures and scalpels seem to be the only things that ensure there isn’t _total_ silence.   
  
Addison glances at him hesitantly, trying to think of something to say. The desperation clings to her. She finds herself wondering, not for the first time, _Is the problem that he’s too busy to be with me anymore? Or is he too busy because he doesn’t_ want _to be with me anymore?_  
  
She twists at her engagement and wedding rings, an unhappy carousel looping round and round. She knows if she doesn’t initiate the conversation, he probably won’t speak. “I was thinking maybe we could go up to the Hamptons this weekend,” she volunteers, privately deciding to give it a few more tension-filled, implosion-is-inevitable weeks before they sit side-by-side and volley accusations at one another in the presence of a marriage counselor. She watches Derek’s jaw tighten as he tries to keep the frown from appearing on his face. “What do you think?”  
  
“Addison…” he sighs.   
  
“It’s so nice up there this time of year. It could be fun, you know, to get away, relax, and maybe talk –”   
  
“Oh God, here it comes.”   
  
“Here _what_ comes?”  
  
The elevator doors slice open just then, effectively hushing whatever snarky remark Derek was about to drop. Mark is standing on the other side, and grins when he sees his friends.  
  
“Hey,” he saunters in, and the Shepherds move over to make room. They return his greeting, and he catches the sullenness in Addison’s voice.  
  
Mark nudges her shoulder. “What’s the matter with you?”   
  
“You’re just in time to try and interpret girl flip-out into normal conversation,” Derek answers.   
  
“Is that so?” Mark smiles at Addison, but she grimaces back.  
  
“I’m just trying to get Derek to go to the Hamptons with me.”   
  
“Derek hates the Hamptons.”   
  
“That’s not the point,” she says, taking the time to properly glare at both men.   
  
“What is the point?” They ask in unison.  
  
“The point is we never talk anymore or spend meaningful time together. Derek, you’re never _home_ anymore.”   
  
“That’s not true.”  
  
“Oh, really? Where have you slept the past two nights, Derek? And on a weekend too, for God sakes. You can’t possibly be on-call _every night_.”  
  
Derek tips his head towards Mark and clears his throat. “Addison, let’s not have this conversation right now.”   
  
“When would you like to have it? This is the first time I’ve seen you since Friday. I actually have to go to _work_ in order to spend time with my husband.”  
  
“You know I had a surgery that went late and –”  
  
“You couldn’t text or call?”  
  
“Addie, come on...”  
  
She keeps her voice steady and controlled, but continues to drive the conversation forward. “It’s not a difficult concept. Pick up the phone. That would have saved me the trouble of cooking dinner and sitting there while the food got cold. Do you know how awful that was? Sitting alone, wondering when the hell –”  
  
“Addison, _stop_.”  
  
“Because Mark’s here? You’ve know him basically your entire life and I’ve known him for, like, 15 years. I think that makes arguing in front of him on occasion acceptable. Plus, it’s not like he hasn’t noticed your absence either.”   
  
“Addison…” they both begin at the same time, Derek for obvious reasons, and Mark because he would prefer not to be involved in this. _I should have taken the stairs_ , he thinks. It’s hard not to jump to Derek’s defense, given that they’re best friends, but Addison is a really good friend too, and she’s not wrong in this situation. For the past year, dinners for the trio have needed just two place settings at least half the time; Derek is as non-existent as Addison is making him out to be. And although Addison can carry on a friendly and enjoyable conversation during two-person meals and does not usually discuss her marriage woes, it is not lost on Mark how deeply she tries to hide her frustration over shared take-out.  
  
“Fine. If you won’t talk to me, I’ll just talk to Mark,” she turns away from Derek, focusing her attention on the man to her left. _Screw you_ , she thinks as she bristles at Derek’s indifference, which ends up being the provocation that transitions Girl Flip-Out Mode into Petty, Not Appropriate Mode. It’s hard to be mature about this though. She’s tried that, and it doesn’t work.  
  
“Mark, do you know how long it’s been since my husband and I have had sex?”   
  
Derek groans, while Mark tries and fails to choke back a laugh. He wistfully thinks again of the non-accusatory stairwell.  
  
“A month and two days,” Addison continues, chancing another peek at Derek, who doesn’t even have the decency to look particularly embarrassed or annoyed about the direction this discussion has fishtailed in; he simply looks tired. Done. “Besides, Derek, it’s not like this topic bothers Mark. He’s probably heading off to have sex with someone as we speak.” She looks back at Mark for confirmation.   
  
“No, I actually have to go follow up on a skin flap issue,” he replies. “And, surprisingly, that’s not a euphemism. But I appreciate your confidence in me, Addison. It means a lot,” he adds with a playful smirk, which at least makes a hint of a smile unfurl across her face. It makes him smile back.  
  
They rumble to a stop and the elevator doors glide open. “This is my floor,” Derek mutters. “See you guys later.”  
  
“So, I’m assuming no to the Hamptons, but should I make dinner? Define ‘later,’ Derek,” she says to his retreating figure. He calls back something over his shoulder about being on-call tonight (which she assumes is a lie) and they can talk later. He doesn’t look back. “He’s getting good at that lately,” Addison says as the doors close again.  
  
“What’s that?” Mark asks.   
  
“Walking away.”  
  
She’s right. He watches as Addison lowers her face and kneads the skin between her eyebrows. He almost reaches out to squeeze her shoulder in commiseration, but decides against it.   
  
“What are you making for dinner tonight?” He asks. “I can come over. Or we can just do take-out. Chinese or something?”  
  
“I feel like we just did that…” she grumbles, then briefly loses her train of thought. “I can’t remember what day, and of course I can’t ask Derek, because he made some excuse and didn’t show.”  
  
“Yeah, and then you had the misfortune of being stuck with me for an evening. Come on though,” he nudges her shoulder again. “You look like you could use a friend. I’ll come over. What time?”  
  
“Mark...”  
  
“I’ll bring a movie. Oh, and alcohol, because you look like you could use that too. So what time?”   
  
Addison tries to conceal a pleased smile as they reach Mark’s floor. “Don’t you have anything better to do tonight? Or more accurately, some _one_ to do tonight?”  
  
He rolls his eyes and repeats himself. “What time, Addison?”  
  
“Fiiiiine. Seven. Oh, and no need to bother with alcohol. I’m in a crappy marriage at the moment and I’m not having sex, so obviously there’s no shortage of booze in the house. Thank you though,” she murmurs, trying to make sure the gratitude in her tone spreads over the irritation she feels towards her husband. Mark nods in response, and Addison really does smile this time, appreciating that when he is several strides out of the elevator, he looks back and offers a grin and quick wave of his hand. _Now that, Derek,_ she thinks _, is what it looks and feels like to be noticed_.  
  
\------  
  
“I brought Thai,” Mark says when Addison opens the arched double front door to find him on the porch holding a takeout bag. An overcast sky is threatening rain behind him. He waits until she notices that his other arm is tucked behind his back and clearly hiding something, and when she does raise a questioning eyebrow, he swings his arm around to present her with a tiny, messy bundle of purple geraniums.   
  
Addison narrows her eyes suspiciously. The flowers, while lovely if not a tad droopy, strike her as familiar; the arrangement lacks the neat precision of something store-bought and nothing appears to be binding the stems together. “Mark, did you steal those from my neighbor’s window box?”  
  
His mischievous grin is all the confirmation she needs. “Hey,” he shrugs defensively. “It’s supposed to be the thought that counts, and I _did_ give it some thought first.”  
  
“Well, it is thoughtful,” Addison agrees, reaching out to take the flowers from him. Their fingers softly brush when the transfer occurs. She steps aside for Mark to enter, and he does so with a comfortable air that unfolds from having spent plenty of time in the brownstone and knowing his way around the first floor. “I’ll find something to put the Lowell family’s captive flowers in. You go ahead and get the silverware and pour some wine, or grab a beer if you’d rather have that. There’s a Barolo by the fridge.”  
  
Once the slightly-sad-looking flowers are settled in a small vase, silverware and cartons of food are placed on the table, and two glasses of red wine are available for consumption, Mark pulls Addison’s chair out for her. She thanks him as a look of surprise travels across her face. He notices.   
  
“Quit underestimating me,” he laughs. “I do have basic manners, Addison.”  
  
“I suppose that’s true.”  
  
\------  
  
“You brought _Die Hard_?” Addison curls up on the couch and pouts in his general direction when she recognizes the opening credits. She lacks the motivation to go take the DVD out and comb through Netflix for something they can both tolerate, but definitely does what she can to convey her displeasure.  
  
“What? It’s basically a Christmas movie. And you _love_ Christmas.”  
  
“You get points for at least trying to pull that off, but it is _so_ not a Christmas movie…” she watches as Mark refills her glass. “And that is a _huge_ pour, Mark. Are you trying to get me drunk?”  
  
“I’m not trying to do anything,” he laughs, and although he truly didn’t mean to fill her second glass as high as he did, the smile gracing Addison’s lips indicates she doesn’t actually mind. “Hey,” he raises his glass. “Here’s to good friends.”  
  
Addison clinks her glass against his. “And shitty husbands,” she adds.  
  
\-----  
  
Later in the evening, when thick raindrops land against the window panes and hover in trembling clusters, Mark hears a sniffling sound that pulls his attention away from the movie he’s watching and Addison is half-watching.   
  
“Hey,” he says, looking at Addison. Her eyes have gone pearly with tears. “You’re crying.”  
  
“No, I’m _about_ to cry. There’s a difference.”  
  
“Okay, so you’re _about_ to cry. And I’m guessing it’s not tears of joy because the movie is almost over,” he waits, but she doesn’t say anything. Mark kicks out of his shoes, and then scoots closer and angles himself towards her. She sighs in response, placing her nearly-empty wine glass on the shadow box coffee table and then mirroring his movements until their knees are lightly touching.  
  
“You can talk about it if you want, Addie,” he adds.  
  
“It’s nothing you don’t already know. Well, I suspect you didn’t know the exact amount of days I’ve gone without sex before this morning, but the rest of it is nothing new. He’s never around, and on the rare instances he is around, he definitely isn’t present. I want him to care, and it’s so intensely clear that he doesn’t,” Addison inhales slowly, trying to maintain her composure. She considers that she shouldn’t be talking about this, not with Mark. Choosing to lean on someone else is probably one of the telltale signs of a crumbling marriage. But Mark is here and listening. And the way he said _Addie_ was just so gentle and sweet that the tears already beginning to seesaw on the curves of her eyelids are even closer to falling. He can be gruff, and usually is, but he can also be thoughtful at times, especially to her. Mark reaches out to squeeze her hand just then, and surprises them both when he doesn’t let go.  
  
“I need to just stop expecting things from him and from this marriage,” she continues. “Then I’ll stop feeling so disappointed.”  
  
Mark offers a low whistle. “That is…pretty bleak.”  
  
“Yes. It is.” She stops trying to muscle through the pain, and when he moves his arm up a bit, indicating there’s a hug available for her if she wants it, she pushes closer so that she’s settled against his shoulder.   
  
“I’m sorry,” he says, dropping a swift kiss on top of her head. “I don’t know what else to say. He’s an idiot. I can talk to him if you want, but I don’t know if that would help.”  
  
“He doesn’t love me anymore.”  
  
Mark sighs. “I’m sure that’s not true, Addison.”  
  
“It is true,” she says quietly. “I’ve tried so freaking hard, but he doesn’t want me anymore – not just physically, but in all the ways. I know there isn’t anyone else, and this is so messed up, but I wish there _was_ a dirty mistress, because at least that’s something I could try to make sense of. It’s just me though. I think he still loves me, but he’s not _in_ love with me, Mark. He might not recognize that, but I do. He doesn’t hate me, but he’s indifferent, and somehow that’s worse than being hated…it just breaks my heart. I keep thinking there has to be a reason that only involves him and who he is, but I’ve come up empty for so long, which makes me think that _I_ have to be the reason…” Addison shakes her head and swipes her thumb along her cheekbone to wipe away a tear. “Is it me, Mark? Am I doing something wrong? God, am I just…not enough anymore?”  
  
“No. It’s not you,” he insists, placing his thumb and index finger on either side of her face and dragging them down along her jawbone. His fingers on her skin stirs something in her. “It’s not. You’re enough, Addison. More than enough. You always have been.”  
  
Mark wraps his other arm around her, holding her against him. Addison knows it’s meant to be platonic and she can’t pinpoint anything earlier in the evening that makes this time Different, but she wriggles around in Mark’s embrace anyway and tilts her face up, gently pressing her mouth to his. Her hands trace over the contours of his cheeks and settle on his shoulders.  
  
“Addison,” he pulls back before the kiss deepens, but only pulls back a little. She can tell without Mark saying anything that it’s not because he wants to stop, but he’s at least giving her the opportunity to determine if she does. She could take the out. It could be just _this_ , and they could never mention it again. Quiet follows. He can feel her breath carrying across his face, feather-soft, and she watches his marble-blue eyes dart back and forth from her eyes to her parted lips. Saying anything else in this moment would just be uninspired and predictable. They both know, obviously, that this is wrong.  
  
Addison lifts her head up and down just slightly, just enough for him to notice, just enough for him to understand _yes this should not happen but yes this is going to happen_ , and then kisses him again. It’s slow and tender at first, but once hands start mapping over skin, they both need _more_.  
  
“Upstairs…bedroom…” Addison mumbles against his mouth in between kisses. He tips his forehead to hers, shoulders rising and fall as they both breathe heavily. “Please,” she tacks on, not out of desperation (or maybe just a little), but because of the absolute conviction that she wants this to happen, needs this to happen. Nothing else in this moment, including the marriage she has wanted to revive, seems to matter.  
  
Mark kisses her again and pulls her up off the couch, hands trailing down the beads of her spine. He slips his tongue into her mouth, earning a quiet moan, and walks her backwards out of the living room and up the stairs. There is a lot of stumbling and pausing and adjusting as they make their ascent, but their hands don’t stop moving over each other. Addison coaxes his leather jacket off his broad shoulders about halfway up, and his hands are buried under her wrap top by the time they reach the bedroom. Her _marital bedroom_ , Addison thinks as she nudges the door shut behind them, but then she forces herself to stop thinking and to just be in this moment.  
  
The only thing that ultimately matters is what happens later, when he is settled on top of her and they are actually in the throes. It is a bit frantic; there is a rushed urgency to their bodies pushing against one another, but it still feels incredible, and Addison suspects it would feel this incredible even if she wasn’t completely and utterly sex-deprived. She’s becoming more breathless now, exhaling in tiny pants, and knows that she’s close, _so_ close, but her concentration on the man moving above her is broken when she hears the unmistakable sound of the bedroom door swinging open. 


	2. How Loud Your Heart Gets

**Chapter 2: How Loud Your Heart Gets**  
  
It occurred to Addison later there was probably some significance in that when she pleaded with her husband not to go, that they could survive this, she had said _Addison and Derek_ , and when he told her that wasn’t who they were anymore, he opted for the reverse order: _Derek and Addison_. She considered that the reflexive way they put their own names first probably spotlighted one of the bigger marital problems that preceded her sleeping with Mark (which, obviously, is now the biggest of them all). Perhaps even before That Night, while she may not have been absent, there were probably plenty of things she did and did not do that contributed to a shaky, unhappy partnership.  
  
A pile of wrinkled-from-not-being-dry-cleaned clothes still occupy a corner of the living room, as well as a duvet cover (the clothes will be worn again at some point, but Addison has given a shocking amount of thought to heaving the bedding into a dumpster and then lighting a match). Patterned dresses, a wool and cashmere-blend Burberry coat that gets more use than most of her other coats during winter, and multiple Diane von Furstenberg tops all bleed together, a direct affront, each one a reminder of how spectacularly she managed to blow up her life four days ago.  
  
There was a cruel finality to this past Tuesday.   
  
Addison sat numbly on the couch after Derek left Monday night and remained there until shortly after sunrise, when she heard the rasping catch of the key in the lock, signaling his brief return to gather the rest of his clothes, part of the “I’m gonna go, you stay” one-sided decision. It did not occur to Addison that it would have been sensible to put some pants on, or at least change out of the CBGB shirt belonging to her husband, which was the first article of clothing within reach when he walked in on her screwing his best friend.  
  
“Hi,” she stood up when Derek entered the home. Like her, he looked like he had not slept. “Can…can we talk?”   
  
Derek shook his head. “I’m going to grab my stuff.”  
  
Her chest tightened, but she was determined to have this conversation without breaking down in tears, and hopefully without doing anything that would get her yanked off the stairs and physically removed from their home again.   
  
“But where…where will you go? A hotel? Your mom’s? Nancy’s…or one of the other girls’ homes? Or…or…Weiss and Savvy’s?” Addison realized she should stop verbalizing the names of all the higher-up individuals in her contact list, but Derek was not saying anything and she naively and desperately hoped if she kept babbling, maybe he would deliver an answer just to get her to shut up. Instead, Derek ignored her and proceeded upstairs to pack.  
  
“Derek,” she tried again when he came down later with two large suitcases, the wheels clunking roughly as they dragged against the steps. “Please don’t go. We can get through this. We can. Stay here.”  
  
Derek sighed, and reluctantly met her teary eyes. “Addie…I can’t stay here. Not anywhere that’s _anywhere_ here.”   
  
She turned his phrasing over in her mind until she felt she understood what he was trying to tell her. _Anywhere_. Anywhere was anywhere that would involve him seeing her nausea-inducing self, anywhere they would potentially cross paths. Addison knew then, in that moment, that Derek would be handing in a letter of resignation and tying up any loose ends before leaving for a faraway undisclosed location, or a faraway undisclosed _potential_ location if he did not have a destination in mind yet. He would not stay here. She suspected he would not tell his mother and sisters – not just yet. He would share what happened and where he was residing eventually, but she knew he would keep them at a distance, at least until Carolyn Shepherd nominated one of her daughters to visit Derek and come back with a full report-out.  
  
“But Derek, I’m –”  
  
“I have nothing else to say to you, Addison. Please stop.” When he said that, there wasn’t any anger in his eyes or voice, not like last night when she saw a frightening version of him she had never experienced before. Now in Derek’s face all she spotted was a ground-down brokenness, a sense of utter loss, and it was enough for Addison to understand that she should absolutely _not_ say anything else, at least not then.   
  
Addison shakes herself out of the troubling memories of their last conversation. After Derek left, she decided not to be a martyr for once and called her chief to request the remainder of the week off. Doctor Wariner had sounded different on the phone, just a bit _off_ somehow, which led her to believe Derek already contacted him. What was specifically said to the Chief of Surgery is a mystery since the messenger definitely has no immediate plans to get in touch with Addison.  
  
She has been texting Derek and leaving voicemails daily, but to no avail. He has not responded.  
  
On the other side of the messy triangle, two missed calls and a rambling voicemail and several text messages from Mark started to roll in Tuesday afternoon. _Call me, call me back, Is he ok? Are you ok? Did you both take the day off? He’s not responding to me. Can you tell him to call me? Should I come over and try to talk to him?_ were among the string of texts that made Addison’s cell vibrate nonstop until she finally realized ignoring Mark wasn’t going to work.  
  
She responded later that afternoon, and Mark accepted her message with a simple _Ok_ , which blessedly brought forth radio silence. Her text felt too clipped and telegram-ish though, and purposely vague. She attempted to delude herself into believing she was responding on behalf of herself _and_ Derek rather than only as a broken woman estranged from her husband who, while absent and distant and had probably not been completely in love with her for quite some time, did not deserve to be hurt in the way that she hurt him. _Talk later_ , she texted Mark. _Need time. Derek too. Will be back at work next week._  
  
\------  
  
The weather is miserable. Rain has been descending on the city for most of the week, and at night, ribbons of lightning and grumbles of thunder have been shifting across the sky. Addison knows she has been granted a tender mercy from whatever Divine Being (who she feels probably shouldn’t be giving her a free pass right now) is looking out for her on Friday evening. It is still raining, but not so badly during this portion of her walk; quiet, gentle raindrops are mopping around her rather than a heavy downpour as she walks several more familiar blocks east without an umbrella or any article of clothing with a hood (a remarkably dumb decision in retrospect). A leather jacket and DVD case are tucked under her arm.  
  
She huddles under an awning of one of the nearby high-rises to fire off a quick message, shortly after ten pm. _Hi. Is it okay if I come see you soon?_  
  
The response does not take long to appear. _Sure. When were you thinking?_  
  
Addison shakily places a call to Mark then.  
  
“Hey,” he answers on the first ring.  
  
She swallows the lump wedged in her throat. “Hey. Sorry, I should have been clearer because that was somewhat…misleading. Right now I’m, uh, like one block from your place, actually.”  
  
“Oh. Okay, no problem. I’ll call down and let the doorman know.”  
  
\------  
  
“Hi,” Addison says when she approaches Mark’s apartment door to find him already waiting for her in the hallway, not far past the tiled elevator landing. He’s wearing a predictable black shirt and sweatpants, and looks a bit tired, but he offers her a soft, comforting smile and a _Hey, I’m glad you’re here._  
  
“You’re so wet,” Mark observes when he gestures for her to enter before him. Addison looks back at him confused, and maybe a little frenzied, as though she really thinks he is hitting her upside the head with a sleazy double entendre at a time like this. Mark notices she isn’t wearing anything to potentially shield her head, and her obnoxious umbrella with the duck head handle is nowhere in sight (an extremely odd choice for her, but she loves using it from time to time in less formal outings instead of her more traditional black one). “Your clothes and your hair. You didn’t drive here…? There’s usually some spots close by.”   
  
“I know. I just felt like walking,” she says softly, tucking a soggy auburn lock back behind her ear. She twitches one of her arms in his direction. “And I…I have your stuff.”  
  
“Thanks,” Mark replies. He takes his jacket and DVD from under her looped arm and places them on the nearest available surface. Then they stare at one another for a moment, trying to think of what to say. Addison opens her mouth, but closes it.  
  
“I’m glad you reached out,” he begins. “I’ve been texting and calling Derek, but I haven’t heard back. Is he…how is he? Are you guys okay?”  
  
Addison briefly purses her lips together, and then forces the words containing her awful new reality to soar up. “We are…most definitely not okay. Derek left Tuesday morning, so I really don’t have any idea how he’s doing. He hasn’t returned my texts or calls either, so we’re in the same adulterous boat together.”  
  
“Where did he go?”  
  
“I don’t know,” she says, and jerks her head when he attempts to cut in, no doubt to rattle off the known roll call. “I tried to talk to him and tell him how sorry I was and to give me a chance…but he didn’t…wouldn’t…he’s not going to come back, Mark. Like, ever.”  
  
“There’s no way that’s true, Addison.”  
  
“There isn’t any reason for him to come back.”   
  
Mark raises his eyebrows. “You’re his wife. That’s reason enough. I can’t even begin to imagine how shitty he’s feeling, but –”  
  
“We aren’t Addison and Derek anymore. Or Derek and Addison. I don’t know which way to…we’re married, but we’re also _not_ married, not anymore,” she interrupts and her voice cracks with a sob as tears start to move down her cheeks. Mark steps forward when her chest and shoulders begin to shake, now knowing that what he suspected when she first walked in is inevitable and if he doesn’t grab her she will collapse to the floor. “He really left. And it’s all my fault. I make him nauseous and he can’t look at me and now there are dirty stoop clothes everywhere, and…and…”  
  
“Addison,” he wraps his arms around her waist, and she initially struggles against him, flustered about her reaction. “Hey, hey…stop fighting me,” he tightens his grasp, but offers up the words as soothingly as he can. “This is a hug and it’s happening, okay? Accept the hug.”  
  
She chokes out a laugh at that, but the brief switch in cadence is largely indistinguishable as she continues to cry, her face burrowed into his shoulder, arms trembling so violently at her sides that he does some minor readjusting to guide Addison’s arms to his chest to try to keep her steadier.  
  
“I’m sorry,” he murmurs into her hair. “I’m so, so sorry, Addison.”  
  
Mark has seen a tear or two from her here and there throughout fifteen or so years of friendship, but nothing like _this_. This, he thinks, he has never seen from anyone before, but then maybe this is exactly what the expression of a broken heart is supposed to look like. If this were any other woman crushed against him and weeping, it would be his actual nightmare, but it’s not like that with Addison. He is surprisingly at ease with embracing her and trying to offer support. He cycles through everything he can think of to help her settle down; he traces slow figure-eights along her back, strokes her hair, cradles the back of her head, rests his forehead close to hers, adjusts her face against his chest when she starts to gasp for breath into his shoulder, and draws his knuckles over the dampened canvas of her cheeks. He thinks a combination of the comfort juggling helps, but ultimately when her sobs fade to brittle whimpers, he knows she is simply drained of all energy.  
  
“Oh my God,” she eventually whispers, head still slumped against the plane of his chest. “I am _so_ sorry, Mark. I didn’t…I shouldn’t have –”  
  
He shakes his head. “Don’t be sorry. I would be more concerned if you _weren’t_ upset.”  
  
“I...I should go,” she slips out of his embrace and wipes sheepishly beneath her eyes. “I should go and let you get some sleep.”  
  
“Nice try. You’re staying tonight, Addison. Take the bed; I can crash on the couch,” he says, pointedly ignoring her when she starts to grumble a protest to assuage her ego. “It’s late, and I don’t think you should be on your own right now. Let’s get you something dry to wear.”  
  
Mark doesn’t give her a chance to answer, sensing she’s too exhausted to try to object a second time, and instead puts a hand on the small of her back and guides her towards his bedroom. She sits down nervously on the edge of the bed while he rummages through some drawers, ultimately returning with an old Yankees shirt he’s partial to and a pair of sweatpants that will inevitably be too big on her.   
  
“Thank you,” Addison says, gingerly taking the items in her arms. That ends up being all she can manage.  
  
She is graced with a complimentary few seconds before assistance is offered to her. “I can help you if you want,” Mark says. “I’m not going to try anything and I won’t…well, realistically I have to look a _little_ bit in order to help, but –”  
  
“I know you’re not going to try anything, Mark,” Addison interrupts. The idea that he sincerely felt obligated to assure her of this, as though she thinks so little of his ability to show appropriate compassion, winds a twinge of sadness through her heart. “And I know you have to look a little in order to help me, but it’s not like you didn’t already see it earlier this week,” she adds, mouth twisting a bit as she attempts to smirk.  
  
“True,” Mark chuckles and steps closer, fingering the edge of her blouse. Addison lifts her arms up to help him remove the garment, and it is quickly replaced with a shirt that feels so soft against her skin that she feels a strong desire to hug herself.  
  
Once Mark has removed her slide-on sandals (it is always a bit alarming to see Addison without heels) and pants, and has replaced them with sweatpants that she does indeed nearly drown in, he helps her crawl into bed. He pulls the covers up around her, and then reaches out to cup her shoulder.  
  
“Couch or bed?”   
  
She blinks up at him. “I…”  
  
“Either is fine with me, Addison. You need to tell me what you want though.”  
  
“Bed. Stay with me,” she says softly.  
  
Mark offers a nod and heads to the other side, knowing that would likely be her answer, but still hoping it would be. He watches Addison roll over to face him. Her blue eyes are pooling with tears again, and her lips are trembling in a way that indicates there is something she wants or needs (or both) from him, but isn’t sure how to ask. “Just tell me,” he says, tapping his fingers against the sheets. “Whatever it is. It’s alright.”  
  
Addison lets out a shaky breath. “Can…can you please just hold me for a bit while I try to fall asleep?”  
  
“Yeah, of course,” he reassures with a smile – again knowing, but also hoping. He slips an arm under the curve of her neck to spread his palm against her shoulder blade, and then loops the other over her waist, hugging her to him. It takes a few minutes for Addison to relax once she’s secured in his embrace, but eventually she exhales gently into the dip of his clavicle. Her tension seems to melt away then, leaving Mark to feel her soft, smooth limbs and curves molded against him.  
  
“Thanks,” she says, voice cracking a bit. “And I’m sorry for making you have to do all this for me…for being so needy.” Her fingers fidget with the collar of his shirt, and her cheeks are still flushed with humiliation that this is what she has been reduced to. “I just…I shouldn’t be acting like this. I’m sorry. This is so, so fucking embarrassing.”  
  
“Don’t be sorry. And don’t be embarrassed. ‘Don’t be’ multiplied by infinity, actually, because I know you’re going to feel the need to apologize a few more times.”  
  
“That’s probably accurate.”  
  
“Try to get some sleep, okay? And,” Mark continues, wishing he had a better transition, but ultimately just embraces the non-sequitur: “I don’t think it can just be tonight, Addie. You need to stay here for at least a few more days.”   
  
“Why?”  
  
“Because you seem to be doing only a marginal job of taking care of yourself at the moment. I’m worried about you.” He peeks down at her, already knowing what she is thinking. “I know you’re probably too tired right now to argue, but if you need me to pretend you stubbornly protested and put up a valiant fight before eventually agreeing just to get me to shut up and because you think it’s only fair for my self-esteem that I get to win like one out of every ten arguments against you, I can do that.”  
  
“Yes, please do that,” she whispers against his collarbone. He doesn’t see it, but he can tell that this made her smile.  
  
“Alright. Your protests have been noted. Now try to sleep. It’s going to be okay.”  
  
“How…how do you know it’s going to be okay?”  
  
Mark winces at the question. “Oh. I was, uh, honestly hoping you were just going to take my word for it.”  
  
A sound between a laugh and a smothered sob escapes her mouth.  
  
“Addie…” he hesitates, thinking for a moment until he feels he has the right words and the words she needs to hear. His hand drops down to rub circles on her back. “I don’t know what ‘okay’ is supposed to look like in this situation. I’ve done a lot of stupid shit in my life, but this is a whole new level of stupid for me, and for that I’m really sorry. I can promise you that I’m here for you though, no matter what. For whatever you need. Right now you’re a little bit of a wreck and a little bit broken, which you should be, but you’re also strong and brilliant and you’re a fighter. So that…that’s how I know it’s going to be okay. That _you’ll_ be okay.”  
  
\------  
  
Mark wakes up when he is slowly lifted back into consciousness by a retching sound, followed by the cold slam of the toilet seat. Light seeps under the bathroom door and a glance at the nightstand clock reveals it is a little after midnight.   
  
He twists out of bed and walks over to the master bathroom, still groggy, and taps his knuckles lightly to the door. “Addie? You okay?”  
  
“Fan-freaking-tastic,” she calls back, and then, realizing sarcasm is probably not what he needs to hear right now from the woman vomiting in his toilet, adds, “It’s okay, Mark. Really, it’s okay. I’ll be out soon.”  
  
She emerges a few minutes later, a bit pale and weary-looking, but with her face freshly washed and teeth brushed. She observes Mark sitting up, his back resting against the headboard. “Hey.”  
  
“You were throwing up.”  
  
Addison offers a nod. “I’m okay now. I think I got it all out of my system, at least. And I found a spare toothbrush, so don’t worry, you won’t need to incinerate yours. Thanks for holding on to dentist freebies.”  
  
“The toothbrush is not what I’m worried about right now,” Mark says, and motions for her to join him back under the covers.   
  
They both know it’s from stress, anxiety, and excessive crying, but he holds a hand up to Addison’s forehead anyway when she gets back in bed.  
  
“No fever.”  
  
She smiles and tilts her head into his shoulder. “Thank you, Doctor Sloan.”  
  
“You’re welcome, Doctor Montgomery-Shep…sorry.”  
  
Addison shakes her head, a little touched that he feels bad for saying it. “Well, it is still my name,” she offers with a shrug, “despite my attempts to blow up my marriage by being an adulterous bitch.”  
  
You’re not…” he hesitates, knowing he can’t argue with _part_ of that self-accusation. “You’re not a bitch, Addison,” he says, which actually makes her giggle and roll her eyes.  
  
“You’ve known me a long time, Mark. Even if you take cheating out of the equation, there are still _plenty_ of times when my personality is less than sparkling.”  
  
“Even so, you’re not a bitch,” Mark says. He leaves unsaid the part about a long ‘e’ and adjective being more truthful because she certainly _can_ be bitchy at times, but not in a way he entirely dislikes.  
  
They sit quietly for a few minutes. Addison’s head is drooping lazily between his shoulder and chest, and he hears her let out a soft, sleepy sigh when he starts to caress her hair, now finally dry. Mark’s fingertips tangle gently between thick strands with slightly conflicting colors, and his surgeon’s eyes hone in on what he had not observed earlier.  
  
“Addison?”  
  
“Hmm?” she asks sleepily.  
  
“Look, I’m sorry because I know the last thing you need right now is shit from me, but I have to ask: what’s going on with your hair? It looks…different.”  
  
“Oh, that,” she sighs. “Tuesday night I used one of those do-it-yourself temporary dyes – the kind that rinses out pretty quickly, thankfully. Turns out red is tough to color over in one shot, especially if you decide to use an off-brand product from the corner bodega, so any weird outer layers you’re seeing should be gone with another shower or two. I wasn’t at work and was slowly going crazy, so I wanted to try something different, which meant embracing something cliché after a major life event. Probably for the best it’s just temporary. I don’t know that I could pull off blonde.”  
  
“You probably could,” he slides back down under the comforter and she joins him, not asking him to wrap an arm around her again, but not objecting when he does. “But for what it’s worth,” Mark taps her on the tip of her nose, “I like you as a redhead. Now get some more sleep, okay?”  
  
Addison nods, and hesitates for just a second before propping up on an elbow to brush a light, gentle kiss against his lips. She suspects Mark does not mind, but her eyes flit away and she positions herself under his chin quickly rather than wait to see and assess his reaction. “Night, Mark.”  
  
“Good night, Addison.” 


	3. Soft Place to Land

**Chapter 3. Soft Place to Land**  
  
Addison inhales sleepily and then little by little allows her eyes to flutter open. Sunlight piercing through the floor-to-ceiling windows hangs a little too warmly over the side of her face not squashed into a pillow and she would be cranky at Mark for not pulling the drapes closed, but it feels bratty to ruminate on this, given that he spent a large portion of the night comforting her. She glances up to notice said comfort-person, eyes glued to the flat screen.  
  
“Hey there,” he says when he hears her shift beneath the blanket. “Sorry, I was trying to keep the volume down. Did I –”  
  
“It didn’t wake me up,” she shakes her head. “What…what time is it?”  
  
“Almost eleven. Probably the longest stretch of sleep you’ve had in a while.”  
  
“Yeah,” she confirms, knowing this is indeed the best and most uninterrupted slumber – midnight vomit session excepted – she has had in a week. “Hey, Mark? Thank you, for letting me stay for a bit. And for taking care of me last night. It just…it meant a lot.”  
  
“You’re welcome. I was happy to do it for you,” he responds, and she notices a pinkish hue flood his cheeks, something she doesn’t think she’s ever seen from him before. “So, um. You probably need to get some more clothes and stuff today, right?”  
  
“Yeah, I do. I can do that this afternoon. I’d like to shower first, I think…would it be okay if I used your shower?”   
  
“Yeah, go for it. But, Addison…just know that it’s _we_ , not _I_ this afternoon. I don’t think this is something you should do by yourself. You’re a kicking-ass-and-taking-names, incredibly strong person, and I see that, but this is still…it’s going to be a lot for you. Your vehement protests about this have been noted though.”  
  
She tosses him a grateful smile. “Okay. Thank you, Mark.”  
  
\------  
  
 _I am at Mark’s apartment._ A tangle of thoughts attack Addison as she stands under the rain shower head, letting the hot water soothe the tension in her back and, hopefully, wash out the remaining yellow strands buried throughout her hair. _I am in his shower and I am naked. I am naked in Mark Sloan’s apartment. We cuddled last night, and it wasn’t weird. I kissed Mark again. I think he kissed me back. That also wasn’t weird. Jeez, do all these bath products in here seriously belong to him?_  
  
Once Addison has dried off, gotten dressed (she opts to wear Mark’s shirt again), and made a half-hearted attempt at towel-drying her hair, she fishes her cell phone out of her pocket.   
  
Nothing from Derek, of course. _Please talk to me_ , she texts, thinking it’s completely repulsive on her part that she’s sending him a message from inside his _best friend’s_ apartment. It’s a habit to send him at least three texts a day though, as well as try to call, even if it’s futile.  
  
Addison scrolls back to a text she ignored from Savvy earlier in the week (the idea of telling anyone what is going on just isn’t something she has been able to stomach yet), and laughs when she sees a more recent message from her best friend.  
  
 _Good thing I’m not holding my breath, you bitch..._  
  
 _Sorry_ , Addison types back. _My bitch-self sucks. Can we get dinner next Tues or Wed? Have a lot to catch you up on._   
  
_Same here. And yes! Tuesday works._  
  
Addison slides her phone back into her pocket, and studies the fragments of her reflection becoming more visible in the fog-filled mirror. _You_ , she thinks, _are an absolute mes_ _s of a human._  
  
\------  
  
“My shirt looks good on you,” Mark comments when Addison maneuvers her way into the kitchen, looking a little hesitant, as though she would very much like to make a break for it. She smiles shyly at the approval though.  
  
“I like it. But you’ll get it back, I promise.”  
  
He wants to tell her she can have it, but it feels like that might be too intense.  
  
“Subway Series. They beat the Mets in five,” he says lamely instead to cover up the silence.  
  
“I didn’t know that.”  
  
He laughs. “Nor did you care.”  
  
“Not really,” Addison laughs too.  
  
“I figured as much. Come sit down and eat something,” he gestures towards the table, where a grilled cheese sandwich and bowl of tomato soup are cooling. “Your five-star meal awaits.”  
  
“Thanks. Hey,” she looks down at the lunch Mark made, and then back up at him, delighted. “You cut the crusts off for me.”  
  
“Yeah,” he said. “I remembered that from Columbia. A bunch of us in study group got snowed in one night and we made grilled cheese sandwiches. And we all gave you a hard time for tearing off your crusts.”  
  
“And then I probably gave you all a hard time after I kicked your asses in Clinical Gross Anatomy that semester.”  
  
“I have no doubt about that.”  
  
\------  
  
They step into the brownstone together that afternoon. Addison’s eyes travel with a sense of anticipation around the shadows coating the home, but of course everything is exactly as she left it. _Idiot_ , she tells herself for thinking there was even a chance Derek might have come back.   
  
“Damn. Did your housecleaner just, uh, bail halfway through?” Mark gestures to the heap of crumpled couture near the couch.  
  
“No,” she responds. “After Derek walked in, and after you left, he grabbed a handful of my clothes and also our comforter, and threw them out the front door. I think it had something to do with him walking into his house to find another man on top of his wife…” she tries to make an attempt at humor, not particularly wanting to relive any aspect of this part of the narrative. Mark just looks sad for her though.  
  
“Addison…”  
  
She interrupts with a shake of her head and a strained smile. “I have plenty of other clothes here, so I’m just going to leave this spring’s adultery fashion line alone for now. I can deal with it later.”  
  
“Okay,” he replies uneasily. “Can I help you pack, or...?”  
  
“No, it’s alright. I’ll be quick. Would you mind waiting down here though?” She asks, and feels relieved when he nods in agreement.  
  
Addison steps into the master bedroom and an involuntary shiver of guilt and something else she can’t place twists around her spine. _You’re okay_ , she insists while moving around the room to gather up a pajama set, undergarments (she judges herself for selecting items that are more on the sexy side than the we’re-not-having-sex or on-my-period side), and a few outfits for work. She tries to force from her head the image of herself that night when she clambered back into the black panties Mark had eased off of her, and then of her scrambling after Derek down the darkened hallway.   
  
She heads into the bathroom next to collect a handful of makeup products and toiletries to stuff into the front pocket of the suitcase, again chastising herself for getting emotional. _Mark is right downstairs, you big, adulterous, whore-y baby. Just get your shit and go._  
  
“Oh,” Addison says when she comes back down the stairs (after a few tears have been carefully dabbed away) and notices the rain-soaked clothes now folded on the couch. “Thank you, Mark. You didn’t have to do that.”  
  
“It’s okay. It didn’t take long,” he says, and eyes her carry-on sized luggage. “Is that all you’re bringing?”  
  
She frowns back at him. “Well, it’s just a few days, right?”  
  
“Right,” he nods, face remaining neutral.  
  
\------  
  
She feels a bit more comfortable that evening, and considerably less teary-eyed. They order-in and watch a few episodes of a mutually-agreed-upon show, and it feels nice to cuddle into his shoulder. Afterwards they take turns changing in the bathroom (which seems funny to her) and getting ready for bed. Addison keeps his Yankees shirt on, but slides a pair of silk La Perla pajama bottoms up her legs that clash horribly with his-but-also-hers shirt.   
  
Mark positions his pillow close to hers and extends his arm to push some of her hair back behind her ear. “You doing okay?”   
  
“Right now I am,” she answers honestly.   
  
“Do you want me to...?”  
  
“No, it’s alright,” she shakes her head when he attempts to imitate hugging her. “I feel okay right here. I’m…trying to self-soothe.”  
  
Mark manages to hide his disappointment, but definitely smirks at her reason for declining. “Is that why I can’t see your hands at the moment?”  
  
“Get your mind out of the gutter,” she rolls her eyes. “I’m from Connecticut.”  
  
“And what does Greenwich have to do with it?”  
  
“Nothing. Forget it. I just mean that I’m trying to center myself. Not that I don’t want to...” she hesitates when she feels a warm blush skirt across her face. “I just need to know that I can lie by myself and feel strong...and not overwhelmed or worried or upset.”  
  
“I get that,” he leans over to stamp a kiss to her temple, letting his lips hover a bit longer than what could be considered friends-only territory. “Night, Ad. I’m here if you need anything, but I know you can do it too, no matter what your hands are or aren’t doing under there.”  
  
\------  
  
Addison wakes up first the next morning, though the bedroom is still relatively dark since Mark did thankfully close the drapes last night. He is still sleeping – curled lazily on his side, his exhales making the sheets flutter – so she toes quietly out of bed to make herself a bit more presentable by washing her face, brushing her teeth (still using the spare toothbrush of Mark’s since she forgot to pack her own), and finger-combing her hair. She slides back into bed and, justifying that maybe it’s okay now because she _did_ sleep on her side of the bed last night, decides to wiggle towards him, carefully positioning her back against his chest. She stays still for a few seconds, waiting for his reaction (either he’s still sleeping or doesn’t want to cuddle) and sort of braces herself for rejection, but then Mark lazily droops an arm over her waist. She can tell from his deep breaths that he’s still sleeping, so she closes her eyes and does the same.  
  
\------  
  
The sleep Addison tumbles back into is so satisfying that she only awakens when the sound of water slapping against tiles begins to filter through. She’s a bit groggy, but there’s a particular spot behind her ear that feels warm; she tries to remember if Mark kissed her there before he got up to shower, or if she just imagined or dreamed it.  
  
She pokes her head up towards the bathroom door when she hears it open, and observes a truly unreasonable amount of steam floating behind a towel-clad Mark when he comes back into the bedroom. _How are you real?_ she wants to shout at him. Droplets of water still cling to his skin, shimmering against his defined chest, abs, and shoulders with each movement. Mark catches her staring, and she immediately puts her head back down and closes her eyes, scrunching them tightly as she feels embarrassment (but not just that) prickle through her.  
  
Mark lets out a quiet chuckle as he rummages through one of his drawers for a pair of boxers, but doesn’t comment. He finds the boxers but decides to forgo a shirt, reasoning that it _is_ sort of warm out.  
  
“Hi,” he murmurs when he settles back under the comforter. His pillow is still relatively close to hers, so when he rests his head on the edge of it, there is only a foot of space between them. “You sleep okay?”  
  
She opens her eyes, and feels equal parts annoyed and happy that he didn’t put a shirt on. “Yes,” Addison flashes him a smile. “Me and my not-doing-anything hands slept just fine.”   
  
“Good,” he says. His hand rises up to her cheek, knuckles gently stroking over the peachy-softness of her skin. When a light sigh leaves her mouth, he doesn’t stop.  
  
“You’re going to make me fall back to sleep if you keep doing that.”  
  
“It’s Sunday. We can stay in bed all day.”  
  
She smirks, raising a flirtatious eyebrow. “Mm-hmm. You would like that, wouldn’t you?”  
  
There are of course a number of comments he could make in addition to just stating _yes_ , _that is what I would like_ and what _what_ he would like to do actually entails with her, but he opts to say something that is also true, but kinder: “You’re so beautiful, Addison,” his hand floats down to rub her shoulder. “You know that, right?”  
  
“Thank you, Mark,” she says softly. A shy smile stretches her lips apart. “It’s...nice to hear that. To _feel_ that, because even though I know that night was wrong, it felt good, just for one night, to feel...desired by someone. And wanted.”  
  
He inhales deeply. “I think you know that if it hadn’t ended the way it did, it wouldn’t have been for just that night, that you were wanted.”  
  
“Yeah. Yeah, I know,” she agrees, leaning closer. “We shouldn’t though.”  
  
“We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do, Addie.”   
  
“But you want to.”   
  
He smirks back at her. “So do you.”   
  
They stare at one another for a few seconds, close enough that Addison really wouldn’t have to move much further to kiss him; her body is now flush against his. Her kissing him seems to be the only option at this point if something is going to happen, because in a turn of events that is uncharacteristic given that this is _Mark_ , it is clear he will not make the first move. _Tease_ , she thinks, knowing it definitely has to do with at least _some_ narcissism on his part, even if there are a few more honorable reasons sprinkled in his logic as well.  
  
Addison pushes her teeth into her lower lip thoughtfully. She decides it’s not completely unwarranted he would force her hand like this since she arguably has more to lose by allowing whatever _this_ is to continue, given the rings and marriage and a husband she is still trying to get in contact with.  
  
“I do want to,” she murmurs, because it’s the truth and because it’s becoming a lot harder to think about Derek – or think at all – when this absolute Adonis of a man with devilish, talented hips is looking at her like he wants her more than anything. She cups his face in her hands and kisses him warmly. He returns her affections, mouth flaring against hers, and she swears it’s only a matter of seconds before he has her completely naked and squirming under him.   
  
It’s a bit slower this time once clothes are shed though, at first just a lot of experimental groping and heavy breathing and making out and a combined, humorous effort to shake the blanket off when there’s too much heat trapped above them. It’s also like yesterday’s shower all over again for Addison as surreal thoughts bumble around in her head. _I am naked in Mark Sloan’s bed. He’s kissing my neck. His_ _really, really great hands are on my breasts. These hands belong to my husband’s best friend and they are now spreading my legs apart. I am going to have sex with Mark again_.  
  
“Oh,” she props up on her elbows when his mouth, which was nipping at her hipbones, is no longer glue to her skin. She watches him settle between her legs (looking entirely too happy about it), and start to alternate light, prolonged kisses on her inner thighs. “You don’t have to...”  
  
“I know I don’t _have_ to, but I want to,” he grins wickedly.  
  
Her face flushes a bit, knowing what act is coming next, and feeling perversely embarrassed and self-conscious about it. Her legs bow a bit, trying to push closer together. “It’s just that, well...I normally don’t...”  
  
“Addison,” he says, leveling her with a stare so smoldering it makes her elbows nearly give up on supporting her. “Let me make you feel good. You deserve to feel good.”  
  
She leans back against the pillow, eyes raising towards the ceiling. Her hair fans out around her. “Okay.”  
  
“Just relax,” he murmurs, nudging her legs open a little more and breathing over her, teasing. “You’ll like it, I promise. And I’ll really, really like making you like it.”  
  
“It’s not like this is the first time that –”  
  
“Shush. I’m busy down here.”  
  
It is not the first time. There have been a handful of times, maybe two or three with Derek early, early on when enough alcohol was involved and some with a guy before him, but nothing like _this_. The payoff she always hoped for (and _Cosmopolitan_ all but guaranteed) always ultimately landed between _nope, nothing_ and _maybe a little,_ and once, when she was sufficiently drunk on scotch and demureness and patience went out the window, _you are not a cat and you are not lapping milk from a dish!_ But this time is fire and ignition and she finds that she can’t really do anything other than wriggle her hips and moan incoherently. And when Mark does something incredible with his tongue and two fluttering fingers, a sound erupts from her that lands somewhere between a yelp and stretched-out scream, and she knows that this is, in its own way, the first time.  
  
“Don’t worry, I can wait. You’re probably going to need a minute,” Mark grins when he crawls back up to her afterwards, kissing her deeply and tangling his tongue with hers. He laughs and doesn’t disagree when she tells him he’s a conceited ass.  
  
“You’re staring,” Addison says. They are cuddled fairly close together, and there is nothing subtle about the way he’s looking her body up and down.  
  
“So are you.”  
  
“I can’t help it,” she says, a bit nervous, tracing a hand from his collarbone all the way down his arm, then threading her fingers through his. It feels far too intimate and sentimental for whatever she believes they currently _are_ , but Mark doesn’t say anything about it (also she assumes he doesn’t care that she is holding one of his hands because his free hand seems to be having a lot of fun cupping her breast and thumbing her nipple). “The other night was – well, I didn’t really get to look for that long.”  
  
“Yeah,” he glances up, not as distracted as she initially thought. “Me neither.”  
  
Addison unchains the hand linked with hers and leans forward to exchange slow, lusty kisses with him until she feels a little less sensitivity humming between her legs and a little less like her heart will throttle right out of her chest. Then she arches an eyebrow and serves Mark with a look that makes it clear he doesn’t need to wait any longer.


	4. Until We Can't (Let's Go)

**Chapter 4: Until We Can't (Let's Go)**

“You ready to be back in action?” Mark asks the following morning. Addison is currently in the guest bathroom completing final touch-ups on her makeup (neither said anything when she set up the majority of her getting-ready products in the other bathroom, but Mark finds himself grateful, given that there’s no way he could comfortably get ready for work with her flitting around the way she does).

“Thank you,” Addison smiles gratefully when he sets a mug filled with coffee on the vanity top for her. “And yes and no. Mostly yes though.”

“I feel like you should be commending me for asking how you’re feeling before talking about how you’re only half-dressed,” Mark comments regarding her current look. A pencil skirt and Valentino pumps have shaped the start of today’s outfit, but Addison’s top torso still only features a black bra. “ _And_ commending me on the fact that I haven’t pressed you up against the counter due to said half-dressed appearance.”

“Congrats, here’s your gold star,” she murmurs, rolling her eyes. “This is how I always get ready. Makeup first, and then shirt.”

“Believe me, I wasn’t questioning the routine. I really like it, in fact.”

Addison continues to mostly ignore him as she recaps her mascara. She studies the high, smooth bun she has worked her hair back into. “You are a professional,” she whispers to her reflection. “You are respected.”

“Are you talking to yourself now?”

“Yes. I am saying that I am a professional and I am respected.”

Mark smiles. “You are indeed both of those things. For what it’s worth, I didn’t really hear anything last week while you were out…not that I tend to have much overlap with the squishy and pink brigade. You’ll be fine though, Addison. You’ve got this.”

“I know,” she nods in concurrence. “As far as us at work...it’s business as usual, Mark. I don’t want colleagues to know anything about my current personal life – nothing more than whatever they already know or have guessed – or to gain any sort preview into the highlight reel of my recent life choices. I’m a professional at work and I’m respected there, and I would like to keep it that way. Is that clear?”

“Crystal. I actually like the bossing, you know. Boss more.”

She smirks. “I intend to.”

\------

“Hey there,” Addison gently knocks on the chief’s office door. “Just wanted to say that I’m back. Thanks for giving me a few days last week – I know it was short notice to call in and ask for time off.”

“Anything for one of our best and brightest,” Chief Wariner returns her hesitant smile. “Everything alright with you?”

“Yes. Um, can I ask what Derek…said to you?”

The older gentleman inhales deeply and steeples his fingers together. “It was a…short conversation. He just said there were some personal matters going on and he would need to resign effective immediately. It didn’t seem like there was anything I could do to convince him to stay, even for an interim period. On a this-is-about-me-and-my-hospital related note though, Dr. Patel is more than ready to step up as head of Neuro; she’ll be great. That’s all I know, Addison. But I’ll ask again: are you alright?”

 _As a surgeon and your neonatal superstar? Yes. In my non-hospital life? No_ , she thinks. She hasn’t texted Derek today – something she had been doing without fail first thing every morning until yesterday, when instead the first thing she did was have sex with Mark. A pang of guilt slices through her. She had discreetly texted Derek and left a voicemail later, but the modification in her routine makes her wonder if she has started to accept the reality of the situation. _You don’t just stop having feelings for your husband though_. She considers that the way things ended might imply she wasted most of her thirties. _But is it a waste with Mark post-cheating? Maybe it will only be a waste if whatever this is ends up imploding. Right now it’s fun, and he can be sweet and thoughtful, but what does it ultimately mean?_

She loves Derek. Addison didn’t necessarily know he was _the one_ , but couldn’t there be more than one “right” person out there anyway – more than one soulmate? Theirs wasn’t a uniquely intense or a forever honeymoon relationship, but it was a solid, pleasant partnership, and at one point a loving one. _He’s always been a decent guy_ , she knows. _But that’s a depressingly low bar. Lots of guys are decent. Derek is also arrogant and brooding, and has a staggering sense of self-importance that just exploded the further he got into his residency. He put up with a lot of your crap too though_ , she reasons. _You aren’t exactly easy_.

“Yes. I am,” she offers a crisp nod in response to Chief Wariner’s second attempt to check in on her well-being. “I’m happy to be back.”

“Good. You’ve been missed.”

\------

Addison grins in approval when the infant she’s checking on tightens his grip around her thumb. “Good boy, Nate. You’re getting stronger every day. Your mommy and daddy must be so proud of you.”

“What a surprise,” Addison glances up when Mark steps into the NICU and says hello to her. She slips her hand out of the port and throws him a bemused look. “I didn’t think you even knew where this wing of the hospital was.”

“I wasn’t far. Reconstructive burn consult over in Peds...so I figured I’d come by and see what my favorite redhead is up to.”

“Shhh.”

Mark gestures towards Doctor Morales, who appears to be a safe distance away and is currently preoccupied with listening to another infant’s lungs and intestinal tract. “Relax. No one is close enough to hear. Unless this little guy plans on telling anyone,” he steps a bit closer. “I’m guessing he respects the bro code though.”

“Mark, meet Nathan. Nathan, meet Mark. This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity for you, Nathan, because I’ve definitely never seen this guy in the NICU before.”

“Ha,” Mark says. “He’s cute.”

She quirks up an eyebrow, certain that Mark has never used the word _cute_ to describe anything before, especially a baby. A feeling she can’t quite name (or perhaps just don’t want to) trembles throughout her chest.

“Yes,” Addison agrees. “The cutest. He’s secretly my favorite. Bronchopulmonary dysplasia. Pretty severe case, but he’s hanging in there, so…we’ll see. Anyway, I have to scrub in at two, but do you want to grab a quick lunch?

“Sure,” he says, following her out of the NICU. “In a professional, business as usual way, of course.”

“Yes,” Addison takes a deep breath and when they pass one of the on-call rooms, she tugs on Mark’s forearm and pulls him in.

“Oh, so when you meant _lunch_ –”

“No, Mark. I do actually mean lunch, but I realized we probably need to talk first. Keep your scrubs on. But that does kind of bring me to what I wanted to discuss. I meant to ask this sooner, like a _lot_ sooner, but my brain is a bit broken these days. We haven’t been using condoms. Do I need to be worried about anything?”

His head jerks back a bit. “Aren’t you on the –”

“I am,” she answers. “But that’s not why I’m asking.”

“I don’t have anything,” Mark says. “Barring a few times here and there throughout the years – none recently come to mind – I’m always good about using condoms. I’m careful, Addison.” He stares at her for a moment, and Addison wonders if he’s expecting her to praise him for this. _Congrats, here’s your second gold star for the day_.

“It’s been a lot of fun not to use condoms with the woman currently staying at my place though,” he continues.

“Have you been with anyone else recently? Since I’ve been staying with you, I mean. It’s completely fine if you have, it’s not like we’re…” Addison shakes her head. “I’d just like to know, I guess. Please be honest.”

“I haven’t,” he answers truthfully. “You came over Friday and we really haven’t been apart since...and have you met yourself? You’re kind of a handful, Addison. When would I have time to be with anyone else? Plus, I was kind of hoping to just sleep with you. You’re fun.”

A frown works over her face. “Is that all I am to you? Fun for the resident manwhore?”

“Of course not,” Mark says. “Come on. That was a joke. You know that. You don’t think I make grilled cheeses and willingly spoon with just any woman, do you?”

“No, I don’t think that, but…what are we doing here, Mark?”

“Well, it’s not just me, right? Something is going on here.”

Addison sighs. “I don’t know. Yes. I think. Sorry, I know that’s not a helpful answer. Yes, something is going on, but I just can’t _think_ with you. I can’t function with you.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re ridiculously attractive and I’m like a gawky teenager with braces and a lisp mooning after my first crush. You’re man candy.”

“We’re good together,” he insists.

“Mark, I just…” Addison rolls her eyes as her beeper chooses to go off at this moment, both unbelievable and yet predictable. “Great. Perfect. I need to go, but…can we talk more about this later?”

“Sure,” he smiles. “Go save some moms and babies.”

\------

“Long day,” Mark says when he answers the door following Addison’s polite knocking.

“Very. I’m glad I told you to go ahead without me. So…should we sit and…talk?”

“Sure,” Mark gestures to the kitchen table. He pulls out a chair for her, and then sits down across from her.

“Here’s the thing,” she leans forward. “It’s clear we enjoy each other, and we’ve been friends for a long time, so there’s history there, and I know we’ve become closer in the past two years since Derek’s been absent more, but it feels soon for like, I don’t know...the couple thing, I guess. Aren’t we still trying to figure out what this is?”

“We’re good together,” he repeats. “This feels right.”

“Mark...”

“Addison...” he copies.

“Look, of course I want to believe I haven’t thrown my marriage away, that I haven’t thrown my life away on a fling, that I didn’t do what I did just because you were there and I wasn’t thinking and I was lonely. I want to believe all of that, and I do feel something for you, I _do_ , but it’s still too soon for me to define it. I need to know that I didn’t hit the self-destruct button just to feel physically close to someone again.”

“It’s not just about sex, Addison. Not for me, at least.”

She lets out a tense sigh. “If you want to do this, Mark – if you want to be with me – it has to just be me. I know that’s unfair of me to ask given that I don’t want to label this and I’m still married, but it’s really, really hard for me to have any semblance of trust or do any self-reflection right now, so if you mean it, Mark, and you want me, it has to _just_ be me. No one else.”

“That’s what I want. Just because I’ve been – as you kindly pointed out – a manwhore in the past doesn’t mean I _always_ planned to be a manwhore. What about you though?”

“Who would I possibly be having sex with?” Addison raises an eyebrow.

“I don’t know. You just don’t get the high horse for this one simply because you’ve been in a relationship since med school and aside from a few short-term things on my end, I’ve primarily been a one-night-only guy. Don’t underestimate me. Everyone in our circle is always so quick to assume the worst in me, which inevitably makes me _be_ the worst, because what’s the point, you know? But it’s not like that with you. It’s not.”

“Mark...”

“I wasn’t really talking about sex though on your side of this. It’s the marriage and the fact that, well, this is Derek. He’s...you know. Honorable. If he showed up at your door and wanted you back, what would you say?”

“I will always care about him and love him,” she responds softly. “But I don’t know at the moment if it’s possible to be in love with someone who doesn’t love you back. He’s not the man I married. Even if he wanted me back…there isn’t anything to go back to. Who we were at one point isn’t who we can be anymore.”

“That’s not really answering the question.”

“Well, God, Mark. It’s not the easiest question to answer. We’re talking about a decade-long _marriage_ here. But I don’t want someone who doesn’t want me, and even before Derek walked away, he’d been gone for a long time. He didn’t want me then and he certainly doesn’t want me now. There’s nothing left of us, but that said, it’s still...really hard to wrap my head around all this. This is a marriage that was starting to deteriorate, but for all intents and purposes was probably still considered stable, and then I went and dropped a cartoon Anvil on it. The feelings of grief and loss and heartbreak that surround all that – it’s a lot to work through, and it’s not something that gets worked through overnight. Besides, what about how _you_ feel about Derek?”

“He’s got great hair, but he’s not really my type.”

“I mean that I wonder if this is a ‘trump Derek’ thing for you, like you get to win. I don’t think Derek would ever want me back, but you essentially have something he can’t have now. You’re competitive, Mark. And so is Derek, and he often does that whole ‘superior’ thing when it comes to you – that’s not lost on me. You and Derek are best friends, but you don’t have the healthiest relationship. I know you didn’t have the most, like, love-filled childhood and you were a bit lonely before you started hanging with the Shepherds more...and then you basically became like a younger brother to Derek, so I’m wondering if this is an ego thing for you, and I’m the prize.”

“You’re not a game to me, Addison. Move in with me.”

“You’re insane,” she shakes her head. “It’s way too soon for that.”

“Why? You’re already staying here. Just stay more...stay-ish-ly.”

“Well put.”

“Come on, move in with me,” he insists, reaching for her hand. “There’s nothing about this that’s ever going to be conventional, you know. And it’s not like we just met. We’re like…Zack and Kelly.”

“Okay, but let’s get one thing straight: You, sir, are no Zack Morris.”

“So...is that a slightly resigned yes?”

“It’s a yes, Mark,” she responds. “To living with you. But everything else...”

“The real thing, the couple thing. You’re not in one-hundred percent.”

“Well, not one-hundred percent _yet_. In the nineties though. And for that I’m sorry. I know it’s not fair to you and it’s cruel and borderline unreasonably manipulative, but it wouldn’t be fair to me either right now, not when I’m still this fragile and trying to get back on my feet. That’s all I can give you as an answer at this point, and all I can give you of myself. Is that...okay?”

“It is. I don’t particularly like it, but I get it, Addison.”

“I think we need to make a pact. We have to agree that we’re not going to try to hurt one another just to avoid being the one who gets hurt first.”

“Okay. I’m in.”

“I mean it though. If you cheat on me...”

“Addie...” he squeezes her hand.

“I really, _really_ mean it, Mark. Look, I’m having dinner with my friend Savvy tomorrow night, and I swear to God all I can think about is coming back here afterwards and finding you with, like, my cute peds nurse spread out on the kitchen table and you on top of her or something. And I know I’m the one expecting you to be faithful when all things considered I’m anything _but_ faithful, but I just...I just...”

“I get it. I won’t hurt you, Addison. I won’t.”

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

She sighs gently. “Okay. And tone down the flirting too. I know it’s usually harmless and it’s just how you are sometimes, but if it’s just me, then it’s just me, and frankly I’m not willing to be on your side if there’s ever a deposition related to the comments you make to the nurses.”

“I can do that.”

“Good,” she smiles. “You said you liked the bossing, so there you go.”

“Come boss me around in the bedroom.”

“I’m hungry for food right now, not you. I can’t boss properly when I don’t have anything in me. _God_ , Mark…” Addison shakes her head and pushes down a laugh when she sees a roguish grin appear on his face. “Are you twelve?”

“Sorry. Do you want me to order from that Italian place you like nearby?”

“Yes, please.”

\------

“Hey, you,” Addison greets when she peers around her favorite East Village restaurant and spots Savvy waving her over to the table. She exchanges a quick hug with her friend before sitting down. “I’m sorry I’ve been so...” she trails off and shakes her head. “Sav, how’s your mom doing?”

Savvy exhales slowly. “Doing okay. As well as can be expected, at least. The chemo has been rough, but you know her – she’s a fighter. So I’m trying to be optimistic about her diagnosis – and about me, I guess. Anyway, enough of that for right now. What’s going on with you? You’ve been more MIA than usual lately, and you have this… _swirly_ look to you right now. Oh my God. Addie, are you pregnant?” 

“No,” Addison shakes her head quickly and picks up the glass of wine her friend ordered ahead of time for her; she takes a generous gulp. “More like the opposite. Or, well, not really the opposite, but, um...brace yourself. About a week ago, Derek caught me in bed with Mark.”

“Wait, _what_? You…you and Mark? You slept together?”

Addison winces and makes strained eye contact with a disapproving older couple dining on roasted salmon not too far from them. “A little louder next time, Sav. I don’t think everyone in here heard you. I knew we should have gone to a very, very loud bar to have this conversation...”

“Well, I’ll definitely be ordering more drinks,” the blonde sits up a little straighter, glancing around to try and flag down a waiter. “Just...walk me through what happened, I guess? Sorry, I’m not really sure what to say.”

“I’m not really sure how to explain,” Addison admits. “But I’ll be chugging this Bordeaux while talking, so hopefully that will help...” she says, and forces herself to walk Savvy through the past week.

“One of these days Derek’s going to return your call,” Savvy says after Addison has filled her in on the most recent events, concluding with Derek’s sunrise disappearance. “I know he will. He’s probably blowing off steam somewhere listening to his stupid European punk rock. You’ll make it though; you guys are meant to be. I wish you’d told me sooner though. I hate to think of you just sitting alone at home.”

“I know. I wanted to tell you right away, but it was just...it was a lot to process, Sav. So I basically cocooned myself for a bit. And also, I’m kind of, um…living with Mark now?”

Savvy’s eyes widen. “Are you guys like...together?”

“Yes. I guess you could say we’re a couple, but in a still-figuring-out-what-this-is kind of way...with a lot of sex and sarcasm and passive-aggressive comments in between. It’s very romantic and what every little girl dreams of having one day, obviously,” she manages a smile, and Savvy rolls her eyes at Addison’s attempt at making light of the situation.

“With Mark though? Look, I’m sorry, Addie. I know he’s one of those friends who mostly just belongs to you and Derek, so I’ve only interacted with him a few times, but isn’t he...kind of an ass?”

“Kind of an ass? No. He’s a _huge_ ass. But he’s also...not. Not with me, at least. It’s hard to explain, Sav, but I don’t think being with him is about the residual guilt of cheating on my husband and wanting to make this work in order to justify what I did. There’s something about Mark. Yes, he’s had a screwed-up moral compass for most of his life, but so have I at times.”

“What about Derek though?”

“I don’t know anymore. I really don’t know anything about anything. But things haven’t been good with Derek for a long time. The coldness and apathy was just...look, obviously I _know_ what I did was awful, but at the same time, maybe things had already run their course. You know he’d never be the one to leave, not unless I gave him a legitimate reason. Anyway, I’m trying to take it one day at a time. I promise that Mark’s ass-like self has been good to me.”

“Okay,” Savvy responds cautiously after Addison has walked her through a few recent examples of Mark’s attempts to care for her. “Just be careful, okay? And it goes without saying, but obviously I’m here for you no matter what.”

“I know that. Thank you, Savvy. And thank you for not judging.”

“Oh, come on. I love you, Addie, but you know I’m judging a little bit.”

“Fine. Then thank you for judging me only a _little_ bit.”

\------

Addison grins as she slips into the elevator, a key from Mark clutched tightly in her palm (that had been a surprise, but it made sense not just because they were now apparently cohabitating, but because their hours were unpredictable at best so it seemed like a good way to cut down on the amount of knocking Addison would need to do).

She pauses when she spots a post-it note on Mark’s (and hers?) door, snarky-but-cute words scrawled in neat handwriting. _Kitchen table is currently unoccupied. Bring your fine ass in here, Addison._

“Hey. I liked your note,” Addison says softly when she slips into the bedroom. He shoots her a sleepy grin. “Sorry if I woke you.”

“It’s fine,” he stifles a yawn. “That was actually the second draft. I was going to say there were 72 nurses in the living room but the kitchen table was unoccupied...I just wasn’t sure if you would have laughed.”

“I would have, actually.”

“How was your dinner?”

“Good. I’m a little buzzed,” Addison remarks, which is made apparent when she struggles a little too much with pulling her top over her head to exchange it with one of Mark’s shirts, before making her way over to the bed. “A little buzzed and a lot sleepy.”

“I can see that. Come here, bossy,” he pulls her into his arms and presses a firm kiss to her forehead. “Sleep well.”

Addison rests her head on his chest and exhales in content when his fingertips gently graze against her scalp. _See? Not just an ass. This is what I’m talking about, Savvy_.


	5. The Loose Ends Will Make Knots

**Chapter 5. The Loose Ends Will Make Knots**

Time has catapulted forward into almost two months of living together. There has been too much take-out (it really hadn’t occurred to Addison before now just how _much_ of a bachelor Mark is/was), lots of phenomenal sex, considerable adjustments and compromises, tentative questions about estranged husbands and where-is-this-going, and the occasional power struggle between two individuals who are stubborn, temperamental, and prone to forcing down any attempts at being vulnerable.

“Are you...still trying to get in touch with him?” Mark asks Addison one morning while pouring them each a cup of coffee (she appreciates the simple, domestic-ish routine of this, that he always gets the coffee started, and not just because the amount of buttons on his espresso machine intimidates the hell out of her).

“Yes,” she answers honestly. She does not try to contact Derek every day anymore, but still sends a text a few times a week and the occasional email. It started to get too taxing (and pointless, really) to type out apology-filled paragraphs, so she has transitioned to just saying _call me_ or _respond_. Around the five-week point, the amount of times Derek is brought up has dropped drastically, and although she thinks of him consistently, he is no longer on her thoughts _constantly_. Addison is not sure what this says about her and Derek, her and Mark, and about the three of them.

“Have you done anything else? Like…called his mom or sisters? I know it would be awkward, but they would tell you. Or have you looked at the transaction history on bank statements? Even just a little digging would help,” Mark suggests, and then wonders why he is trying to make suggestions, and if it isn’t some brand of self-sabotage on his part. “He can’t be _completely_ off the grid, Addie. He’s not Houdini.”

“What I am doing right now...” Addison breaks eye contact and flexes her fingers against the kitchen countertop. “I know my attempts aren’t persistent and they lack any sort of sleuthing creativity, but this what I’m able to do while in my current headspace. I can only put so much into this right now.”

“Okay. I get that.”

“I’m going to have an attorney draw up divorce papers though,” she tells him after they have both taken a sip of their coffee. Addison considers that Mark at least twenty-five percent probably _does_ get why she cannot do anything more to track down Derek at the moment, but she figures she needs to at least offer him something else as a form of messed-up solace for his ongoing efforts to be patient with her. “I got in contact with a lawyer friend of my mom’s who specializes in divorce. He should have something to me by tomorrow. And despite some ironclad attorney-client privilege that’s supposed to be in place, I’m expecting a call from my mother any minute now to positively scream at me about what the hell is going on.”

“I’m sorry, Addie.”

A resigned smile plays at her lips. “About my mother? Yeah, me too.”

“No,” Mark shakes his head. “About the papers.”

“You’re sorry?”

“Yeah, of course I am. I’m sorry if I sounded...” he sighs. “Listen, regardless of what’s going on with us, this is still a marriage potentially coming to an end. So, yes. I am sorry for you. For both of you.”

“Thank you, Mark,” she says quietly, a bit surprised. It occurs to Addison that too often she has accepted the disheartening idea that men are predominantly only able to apologize for an intentional action or slight (and even then, expecting a genuine apology feels like a stretch at times), rather than as a component of simple empathy.

\------

Addison wanders around the apartment while Mark is in the shower, touching the leather sectional, metal accent tables, and grand wall bookcase that has a respectable collection of novels, but is devoid of any actual _style_ (she imagines Mark would be completely flummoxed if she tried to explain that bookcases aren’t just for books). Sailing her fingers along the furniture and appliances is not completely out of the norm for Addison, because it is still surreal to her that _this_ is her life and _this_ is where she lives. Everything in Mark’s apartment is sleek, and borderline-sterile in its minimalism and functionality. She takes in the shades of black and gunmetal gray that dominate the overall living space with a disenchanted sigh. Mark has a housekeeper who tidies things up of course, but even without someone picking up behind him, there are pockets throughout the apartment that are truly so immaculate and stripped of character that it reminds her of a retail show room.

 _Just about seven weeks. That seems like an acceptable amount of time to have waited_ , Addison convinces herself. It has felt like an excruciatingly long period to keep silent on how much she hate-hates his style.

“Hey, Mark?” She asks when he comes back into the living room. “Since I’m staying here – living here – can I…can I make some changes?”

“Changes?”

“Like, you know, decorating-wise. Everything about your place screams that you are a man who lives alone. This would definitely include purchasing a candle or two because sometimes the entirety of your apartment smells like a giant pizza box, which absolutely baffles me because we don’t even order pizza that often. I promise I won’t do anything overly-feminine and I won’t make any big changes. I just want it to kind of look like I live here, too.”

“Sure, do whatever you want,” he replies, and though the words are a bit brusque in delivery, Addison can tell it is not meant in a dismissive, I-don’t-care-just-don’t-talk-to-me-about-it-anymore way.

“Just...no pink, right?” He adds.

She smiles back at him, feeling hopeful. “No pink.”

\------

“You look tired today,” Mark meets her eyes in the mirror on Sunday morning as Addison gets ready to have a quick coffee date with Savvy at their favorite spot in Central Park.

Addison crinkles her nose at him. “I remember seeing this movie one time where someone told a character she looked tired, and she responded that that’s just a polite way of telling someone that they look like shit.”

“I didn’t mean it like that. You look great. Just a little sleep-deprived, that’s all…” Mark says, and predictably, a devilish grin slinks around his face. 

She meets his smirk with one of her own. “I wonder whose fault that is.”

“Didn’t hear you complaining last night.”

“Mark...”

“But I did hear you say _that_ a lot. More than once, sometimes over and over at various volumes. And ‘say’ might not be a strong enough word because there were definitely one or two times that you were…”

“Keep it up and you –” she speaks over him, but her words are quickly drowned out when Mark backs off the start of his other statement and chooses to take on this new remark of hers.

“…I think you know that’s never a problem for me, especially when your mouth and hands are involved.”

“Play fair,” Addison chides, but starts to laugh. She turns around to look up at him. “You don’t always get to say immature things just to prevent me from saying something you don’t like or disagree with, you know.”

“I’ll do my best,” he says, wrapping his arms around her waist and kissing her softly. “Hey.”

“Hey.”

“Have a good time with Sav.”

“Thanks,” she says. “I’d offer to bring you back one of your gross Bone Dry Cappuccinos — God even just the thought of all that foam makes me want to throw up — but it probably wouldn’t be good by the time you get back from the game.”

“Yeah. I’ll let you know when I’m on my way back. My tennis partner will probably want to grab a drink afterwards. Nice guy and a decent backhand, but he’s mind-numbingly boring. It’s hard to say no to seats behind home plate though, so the least I can do is grab a beer with him...except now I’m starting to wonder if maybe _he’s_ the one who owes _me_ because I gave his wife breast implants about a year ago.”

“What a lovely friendship. It’s like a charitable tit-for-that.”

Mark’s eyes widen. “Was that pun intentional?”

“Yes,” Addison rolls her eyes. “It’s an inevitable side-effect from living with you. I’m not proud of it, for the record.”

“I am.”

\------

“Thank you _so_ much,” Savvy joins Addison with a dramatic flop on the weathered bench shaded by pine and beech trees near Conservatory Water. She breathes out a drained sigh, moving way faster down East 73rd than was necessary. “I got distracted and lost track of time.”

“No worries,” Addison beams. She hands her friend a Chai Latte as requested. “It’s nice to not be the late one for a change. I seriously just got our order and sat down though, so you’re fine.”

“Well, thanks. What did you get? Hot Chocolate?”

“Surprisingly no. Belgian Mocha,” Addison takes a sip, and immediately lets out a husky cough. “But maybe I _shouldn’t_ have. Oh my God. _Ew_. It tastes awful. Like...like potting soil.”

“Are you serious?”

Addison holds it out for her. “Try it.”

“Well, after that glowing recommendation...” Savvy rolls her eyes, but accepts the to-go cup. She prematurely winces before taking a cautious drink. “Hmm. Tastes fine,” she decides after a moment. “Way too chocolatey, but I’m not picking up any _Country Gardens_ vibes.”

“Ugh. I don’t know what’s wrong with me then. I got coffee because I need more caffeine than what hot chocolate can offer. I should have gone with my original choice. I would rather be tired and under-caffeinated than wide-awake due to drinking sour mud. Are you _sure_ it didn’t taste funny? Did you at least _smell_ it? Doesn’t it smell gross?”

“Jeez, you’re not pregnant, are you?” Savvy says with a laugh, and then realizes it’s not funny. Not even a little bit. It would have been funny in The Before when Addison was with Derek, to speculate on what were pregnancy symptoms and what was just their bodies being weird and playing tricks on them. But not now.

“Do I _look_ pregnant?”

“You look like you’re _thinking_ that you might be pregnant.”

Addison is quiet for a minute. _Dysgeusia_ , she thinks, the ugly-sounding word cartwheeling through her. She told Mark when she first started staying with him that her brain was definitely a bit broken. And then she considers what else she knows to be true: the pill is ninety-nine percent effective, _provided_ it is taken consistently, and there were maybe one or two times Addison had forgotten to take it when she first started sleeping with Mark post-actual-first-time. There was the off-and-on nausea she had felt over the past two days and assumed was related to her impending period. She had been more tired lately, had a headache last night, and her breasts _did_ feel a little sore, now that she was thinking about it. And of course, the biggest indicator of them all: _You’re late_ , she realizes. _You’re very late_.

“Addie...” Savvy interrupts her thoughts. “Do you think...?”

“Fuck,” Addison mumbles under her breath.

“I think that’s what got you into this,” Savvy replies, but reaches out to squeeze her friend’s hand in support.

\------

Addison fights back the sudden need to throw up. Nausea – possibly _pregnancy-induced_ _nausea_ , she thinks with a jolt – swirls through her as she focuses on a designated spot on the bathroom wall, trying to avoid looking at the stick on the counter until she is certain enough time has passed.

About two years ago, after spending a weekend with Derek’s family, which included a collection of adorable dark-haired nieces and nephews that they fawned over as often as they possibly could, the subject had come up on their drive back from Upstate New York.

“What do you think?”

“Not yet,” Addison said lightly. “Maybe one more year? I’m not quite ready yet. Soon though.”

“Okay,” he responded, in a tone that was easygoing and confident. Derek had glanced over at her and grinned. It was one subject where they didn’t have to push each other or butterfly-float around desires and concerns; they loved kids and wanted them, and had long ago agreed they would “know” when the time was right, both as individuals and as a couple.

Addison had started to circle back to the topic with Derek a few months ago, but stopped herself. He would be a good father, definitely. But it didn’t feel right to bring a baby into a marriage that was slowly burning to the ground. If they weren’t in a good place, how could she expect a baby to make things better? Couldn’t it actually make things worse? And how unfair would it be to bring a baby into a less-than-ideal situation?

But if she was pregnant _now_ , this wouldn’t be right or ideal either, would it?

She takes a deep breath, and then shifts her gaze in the direction of the waiting pregnancy test stick.

\------

“Ad...?” Savvy answers on the first ring. They departed shortly after it became clear Addison needed to go pick up a pregnancy test. She was insistent on doing it alone, but promised to call Savvy as soon as she knew.

Addison doesn’t answer. Savvy waits a few seconds, and then gently asks, “What are you going to do?”

“I don’t know,” she replies, voice weighted with held-back tears.

“Well, okay. Okay as in it’s _okay_ that you don’t know. But Addie, I love you and I’m here for you, so just let me know how I can support you. Do you want me to come over? Or do you want to come here?”

“No, it’s – it’s okay. I just need to be alone and think about this for a bit...”

“Okay, but I really am here for whatever you need. If you need me to come with you...”

“Wait, Sav – I need to not think about this for just a sec. I’ve been so self-involved during all our recent interactions. I know you gave me an update on your mom, but it sounded like something might be going on with you as well...is everything okay?”

“It’s okay, Addison. I definitely want to get you caught up – other than my mom’s cancer, everything is good, Weiss and I are good, work is good, yadda-yadda – but I’ve been thinking about some health-related things recently, and would love to pick your brain, but it can wait. Let’s figure out your stuff first, okay?”

“This would be... _unseemly_ , right? To have a baby with Mark?”

“Is this 1940?”

“No...”

Savvy sighs. “Seriously though. Do you want to come stay with us for a bit?”

“No, it’s okay...” Addison trails off when she gets an alert that there is an incoming call. She doesn’t recognize the number, but knows she will need to accept it out of obligation in case it’s a hospital or patient-related emergency. “Hang on, Sav. I’m getting another call. I’ll talk to you later.”

She feels both startled and glad to hear from Richard Webber, one of her long-ago mentors. They exchange pleasantries before he fills her in on a TTTS case that Seattle Grace could use help on. She thinks that is it, and starts to discuss her projected arrival date, but then Richard clears his throat and tells her there is something else she needs to know about.

Addison frantically jabs her index finger at the “end call” button when they conclude their conversation. And then, this time, she does throw up.


	6. Tiny Little Fractures

**Chapter 6. Tiny Little Fractures**

Thankfully, Mark does not arrive back to the apartment from post-game drinks until around eight, which gives Addison enough time to throw up, cry, appropriately freak out, throw up some more, and then attempt to pull it together. She makes tentative plans to leave earlier than usual tomorrow morning for “surgery” so she can place a call to a med school friend of hers who is an OB/GYN at a neighboring hospital.

Since it’s Sunday and she and Mark are both neurotically stubborn about going to bed early before the start of the work week, they don’t have to talk much, and Addison is able to gently brush him off when he slides a hand down her thigh, feigning-but-not-really-feigning sleepiness.

\------

Addison starts to think sheer force of will is keeping her from kicking off the morning by shoving her head in the toilet, but logically she knows it is only a matter of time. She curls her hands around the mug of coffee Mark nudges in her direction, even though she will be dumping the prospective mud-flavored beverage down the sink when he is not looking.

“So I got a call yesterday from Richard Webber. He’s the Chief of Surgery at Seattle Grace. He has a Twin to Twin Transfusion Syndrome case he was hoping I could take on. I’m planning to fly out there next Sunday.”

“I guess you should plan to bring an umbrella then.”

 _Come on_ , she tells herself, almost cackling at the absurdity of it. _It is going to be so much easier to tell him about Derek and Seattle than about your adulterous love child. This is a breeze._

“And also, um…” she begins, pulling some documents out of her briefcase. “I have divorce papers.” She gives the papers a little shake in his direction before stuffing them back in the briefcase. Mark’s expression is hard to read.

“And these things are connected,” she adds, “because Derek is in Seattle.”

“Oh. How did -”

“Richard told me. Derek is his new head of Neuro. So that’s where he went after he left New York. And according to Richard, Derek is actually…seeing someone. An intern. That’s a bit cliché, no?” Addison says, lips twisting into a bitter smile. “I get that there was a monumental event that preceded it, but essentially he left his wife for a lusty intern. I’m sure she has no idea he’s married. She’s probably the anti-Addison.”

Mark presses his palms into the countertop. “Have you thought about just faxing the divorce papers?”

“The flaw in that plan is that I can’t fax my surgery skills to Seattle.”

“There are other doctors, Addison…”

“This is a complex procedure. Only a handful of surgeons are able to separate fetal blood vessels as it is. Plus, Richard is an old friend,” she works to keep her tone as cool and measured as possible. “The patient was recently admitted and he _asked_ me, Mark.”

“And conveniently, your husband is there. Would you go if it was just him? Or are you going because he’s with someone new?”

Her lips split open in confusion. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means that very rarely do you actually know what you want, and now that Derek has acquired his own dirty mistress, of course you’d want him back, or at least want to fight for him — you aren’t the kind of person who ever steps aside,” Mark inhales deeply, frustration dancing across his features. “You can’t fax surgical skills to Seattle, you’re right, but you can’t fax _unsigned_ papers, either.”

“You think I should just scrounge up some fax number for Seattle Grace and put ‘attention: Derek Shepherd’ and hope it gets into the right hands?”

“Scan and email them then,” he snaps just as Addison feels her stomach coil in protest. _Just make it to the lobby so you can proceed to ruin the bathroom attendant’s day_ , she thinks. _You need to leave anyway if you want to call Maggie while it’s still relatively calm at work._

“I can’t do this right now,” she shakes her head. “I have an early surgery.”

“This conversation isn’t over, Addison.”

Addison slips a hand around the doorknob and glances back at him. “I didn’t say that it was,” she retorts with an edge in her voice. “But I need to leave right now, so this conversation _is_ , in fact, on pause.”

\------

When Addison calls Maggie Connelly to schedule an appointment, she leaves out the part that this might not a “typical” prenatal visit indicative of a happy, excited mother-to-be; she wants to discuss all possible options, as though she does not already know what choices she has.

“Great,” Maggie chirps when Addison selects a day and time slot after being presented with a few options. “I can’t wait to see you! It’s been way too long. I’ll see you guys at four o’clock on Thursday then.”

She does not update Maggie on her current circumstances. _You are breathtakingly stupid, Addison_ , she thinks to the woman in the mirror who she no longer recognizes.

\------

“Hey,” Savvy answers. “I just saw your text. You’re going to Seattle for a surgery…and that’s where Derek is?”

“Yeah,” Addison responds, leaning against the wall into an abandoned hospital corridor. “Things are going really, really well for me right now.”

“Did you make an appointment for –”

“Thursday. I’m not sure what I’m going to do, and I haven’t told Mark, but I’ll go to the appointment and do another urine test and then a blood test to confirm what I already know. And after that…I don’t know, Sav.”

“I can go with you to the appointment.”

“That’s really sweet of you. I think I’m going to go alone, but I promise I’ll let you know if I change my mind. Hey though,” Addison pushes forward. “Tell me what you’ve been wanting to tell me, Sav. I need something else to focus on for a minute. _Please_.”

“Okay. Well, I’ve been thinking a lot lately about my health, so I talked to a genetic counselor a few weeks ago…you know what my mom is going through right now. My aunt died of ovarian cancer. I also have a cousin my age, and she has it too. And then…Addie, I tested positive for BRCA.”

“A positive test result isn’t the end of the world. It just means you have a gene mutation that could –”

“I know, and I know things are absolutely _batshit_ for you right now, but once you’re back from Seattle and know what you’re going to do about…” Savvy hesitates, and they both silently finish the thought. “Maybe when you’re back – or hell, I’d even fly out there – we can talk about this more. About my options. And I know what you’re going to say, but don’t. Not now. I’m just giving you the prologue. Right now you need to take care of yourself.”

“Okay, just…just don’t do anything until I get back.”

“I won’t. But no more about me…change the subject or I’m hanging up.”

“Fine. About Mark,” Addison says hesitantly. “The way he is with me…I think maybe he could be like that with a kid, too? He’s grown up a lot in the past few years – mind you, he has a ways to go – and maybe he could do this? I think he has it in him to be a good dad, if he wants to do this.”

“But, Addie…do _you_ want to do this?”

\------

“Hey there,” Addison pads in to their bedroom quietly. She manages a smile when she sees him tucking a few shirts back in one of his drawers. “You saw my text, right? About me being late?”

“Hey,” Mark answers. His tone lacks hostility. “I did. Long day, huh?”

“Yeah. Fetal tumor resection. Pericardial teratoma, so multiple hands on-deck. It was touch-and-go. Nearly lost the mother,” Addison shares. It is more information than Mark needs to know, but she is not babbling to put off the Other Conversation. She wonders, if she keeps the baby, how she can _possibly_ perform such intense surgeries for the duration of her pregnancy without feeling troubled, how she can possibly separate her work self from her personal self when she’s rushing into the OR with a significant part of her personal life still attached to her.

“Good,” Mark says when she tells him that both mom and fetus were doing well when she left for the night. “So…you’re going to Seattle.”

“Yes.”

His voice turns a bit nastier. “Well, that’s encouraging.”

“What is?”

“Your rings,” he nods towards her fingers. Addison looks down, realizing she has been twisting them around, a nervous habit. “At least we know they aren’t completely stuck.”

She takes a seat on the edge of the bed and frowns at him. “That’s rude. And unkind.”

“I just don’t think you should go, Addie. There are other surgeons who can do this procedure. You aren’t the only one. And fax the papers. Fax the _signed_ papers. What are you even waiting for?”

“A little bit more understanding from you would be nice. You’re not being fair,” she spits back. “We’re talking about eleven years of marriage here, Mark. It’s not the easiest thing to do. I’d like to at least meet Derek in person to discuss this; I owe him that much. Also, my signature doesn’t mean anything if his isn’t there. I understand relationships are new for you, but you _don’t_ get to tell me what to do, especially not in this situation.”

“Oh, don’t pull that crap,” he steps closer, and Addison immediately rises to her feet to meet him. It is something he appreciates about her in a weird, probably not-so-healthy way; she does not back down from a dispute, ever, and is perfectly comfortable with getting right in his face to shout. “A little bit of understanding from _you_ would be nice, too. You’ve had just one foot in this relationship for like two months now. You’re stringing me along until some sort of escape makes itself available, just so you don’t have to be alone. Enter Seattle. How perfectly this is all working out for you.”

“It’s not a one-way ticket, Mark.”

“Oh, really? What day are you returning?”

“I haven’t booked a return flight yet. Come _on_ , I’m performing surgery and I’ll need to monitor the patient and twins’ progress afterwards. It will be at least a few days. Surely the not-stupid part of your brain can understand why there isn’t a set date and time.”

“Does the not-stupid part of your brain recognize how self-involved and ridiculous you are? God, I swear I can barely look at you right now. I bet you can’t even pick up a pen and _pretend_ to sign the papers.”

 _I look at you and I feel nauseous_. Addison jerks her head rapidly, trying to shut down what Mark’s words make her think of.

“You honestly think I won’t sign them?” She asks.

“That’s _exactly_ what I think. And you want to talk about fair? Sure, let’s do that. Your signature means something to _me_ , Addison. It feels like you’re going to ask him to sign first. You’re waiting. You can act like I’m the manwhore and tell yourself I don’t know what I’m doing, but at least I’m _trying_ to do things right. You’re about to pull some ‘if you sign I’ll sign’ bullshit, which is equal parts fucked and cowardly.”

“That’s not true, Mark,” she snarls back, but beneath the viciousness in her tone, he can see that genuine hurt is flashing in her blue eyes. “I care about you…”

“And you know Derek won’t sign first,” Mark continues angrily, not able to stop himself from revealing the fears casting through him. “He’ll pull some sort of unbearably noble crap and take you back, even if it makes him miserable because that’s just the kind of guy he is. So you’re not making a decision; you’re ensuring one is made for you.”

“You don’t just get to –”

“I _do_ get to. You can’t have one foot in this forever. Your marriage is over, Addison. All you have to do is admit it. Instead, you’re looking for an excuse to get out of this and a transcontinental opportunity just falls into your lap. You’re always getting after me to grow up…how about _you_ grow up? Grow up and take your God damn rings off!”

_Get out. Get out. Get out of my house now._

“Fuck you, Mark!” She shouts. They’re only half a foot apart now, voices climbing up and words coming out harsher as they breathe over each other’s lips in utter fury, neither inclined to back down.

He shakes his head. “No, fuck _you_. You know what, I can’t do this right now,” he starts towards the open bedroom door. “You just…you can stay. I’m gonna go.”

_I’m gonna go, you stay._

“Wait…wait! Please don’t go,” Addison scrambles after him and latches both hands around one of his wrists, pulling desperately. Mark had looked back immediately due to how panicked she sounded, but it still startles him when she begins to cry. “I’m sorry, Mark. I’m sorry. I’m sorry, okay?”

Mark tries to wiggle his hand free so he can coax her into his arms for a hug, but she misinterprets the action as a sign that he is trying to go. “No…no…” she begs. “Don’t leave. Mark, _please_.”

“I’m not. Addison,” he leans down to catch her eyes. “Hey, hey. It’s okay. I didn’t mean…I’m not leaving.”

“Y-you said you were,” her mouth is ajar mid-cry, and hot tears of panic are dropping down her cheeks. The distress is evident all over her face. “I’m sorry, okay? Please don’t –”

“I just meant I was going to take a walk,” Mark finally breaks his wrist free and reaches out for her. He circles his palms around her forearms in an attempt to draw her into his chest, and though he is able to do so, his gaze shifts down in alarm when a choked shriek balloons from her mouth. “Did I – Addie, did I hurt you?” 

“No. Just don’t…d-don’t grab my arms,” she weeps.

“I won’t,” he responds, trying to rewind the moment. _That couldn’t have hurt her. I_ wouldn’t _hurt her._ “Is…is this alright though?” He strokes her back lightly as she continues to sob. “I’m just trying to hold you.”

“Y-yeah,” her fingers twist around the fabric of his shirt, clinging forcefully.

“You’re shaking so hard,” he says worriedly. His lips sweep over Addison’s temple as he cradles her closer and tries to help her settle down. Her frantic tears soak into his shirt and she coughs between sobs. “Honey, don’t cry. It’s okay.”

Mark listens to the sharp rise and fall of the xylophone wails she’s releasing into his chest, disrupted each time she starts to hyperventilate. He whispers gentle reminders near the swirl of her ear to breathe, trying his best not to squeeze her too tightly when she’s already gasping, but also knowing his embrace is the only thing keeping her upright. Anguish creeps through him as he does everything he can think of to help Addison calm down. _How could I do this to her? How could I make her cry like this?_

“Hey,” he states when there is an unexpected break between cries. Mark starts to shuffle her backwards towards the bed, keeping his arms folded around her. “Let’s sit down, okay? I want to get you off your feet.”

A few steps away from their destination, Addison’s body is no longer willing to cooperate and she feels her feet lock in place. “ _Wait_ ,” she cries out as her face and hands start to tingle. “Wait. I can’t. Mark, I can’t _move_. I’m having…oh, I’m having…”

“You’re having a panic attack,” Mark finishes for her, knowing she knows this, but also knowing she needs it to be acknowledged. Throbbing waves crash through Addison’s chest and she gags, and though the reasonable part of her knows the heightened sensations will not last too long, in this moment it feels like she’s dying.

“Mark…” she chokes out. It is too hard to swallow; her mouth is dry and the attempts to breathe good air in and bad air out feel smothered within her throat.

“You’re okay. I’ve got you,” Mark tugs her with him the rest of the way to the bed. He sits down and adjusts her as gently as he can until she is curled up in his lap. “Everything is going to be okay, Ad.”

“Pen,” she hiccups.

His palm stills against the base of her neck. “What?”

“A – a pen. I’ll sign…I’ll sign them…”

This, more than anything else tonight, makes him want to cry. “Shh. Addison, no. Don’t worry about the papers…and try not to talk yet.” The hand of Mark’s not wrapped around her waist to keep her against him resumes tracing warm circles on her back. “Just give it a few more minutes until you’re a little more relaxed. Close your eyes and focus on taking slow breaths for me.”

“Dizzy…” she whimpers.

“I know,” he responds. “You’re lightheaded from hyperventilating. You’re going to be alright though. Just elbow me if you feel like it’s getting hard to breathe again and I’ll help you through it, okay?” Mark feels her nod numbly against his chest. “I’m not leaving you, Ad. I’m _here_. I’m right here.”

Addison nods again. She discovers that closing her eyes does help, and resting her head on Mark’s chest allows her to feel the protracted rise and fall of his muscles. She works to mirror his breathing, which slowly regulates her heartbeat. A more cogent thought eventually whips through her: _he would be so good with a kid who wakes up crying from a bad dream._

When her chest no longer aches and the pins and needles feeling that has been drumming throughout her body has faded away, Addison grazes her fingertips against Mark’s arm to get his attention.

He glances down to meet her puffy eyes. She looks exhausted, but calm again. “A little better?” He asks, and Addison offers a sheepish nod. “Okay, good. I’m going to help you lie down, okay?”

Another tear slips out when he adjusts the covers around her. “I’m so sorry,” she whispers as Mark shifts the pillow beneath her so they can share it.

“Don’t be,” he wipes the stray tear away and then secures his arm around her. “There’s nothing for you to be sorry about. If anyone’s sorry, it’s me. Addison, I _swear_ I didn’t mean for it to sound like I was _leaving_ -leaving. I was just going to step outside and get some air. And maybe bang my head against the sidewalk for a bit because sometimes you make me crazy,” he adds, and this causes her to smile. “I wouldn’t leave you though.”

“I know. I just…I was being ridiculous. It was just a long day and a rough surgery. I shouldn’t have…I know you wouldn’t leave me.”

“Look, I know anything mental health or feelings-related is far from my specialty, but what happened to you when I said I was going to go…that triggered something for you. And then you, like, _yelped_ when I grabbed your arms, and I…I don’t think I was squeezing hard or anything, or at least I hope not. So you need to tell me what this was about because I don’t ever, ever want to put you through something like this again.”

Addison offers a self-deprecating smile. “It’s not like you put me through it. I can self-destruct all on my own.”

“I know, but you being that upset scared the shit out of me, Addie. I’m honest with you, so I need you to try to do the same, alright? If my flawed, immature ass can do it, so can you. Whatever it is, just tell me. I won’t interrupt; I promise.”

“Okay. Just…” Addison shifts around in his arms until her back is flush against his chest and her head is tucked under his chin. A hint of a smile reaches her face when Mark stretches his arm forward to lace his fingers through hers, which makes her feel a bit securer. “That night when Derek walked in on us…you know how I told you about him throwing my clothes outside? Well, I was also outside with the clothes at one point.”

“He threw you _outside_?”

“Mark,” she squeezes their joined hands. “Just listen. Please.”

“Sorry. Go ahead.”

“After the clothes went out the door, Derek told me to get out. I – I said no. I was sitting on the steps, and my hands were gripping the railing. But he told me to get out again, and when I refused, he came over and grabbed me and physically forced me outside and then shut the door on me. He didn’t hurt me,” she adds quickly when she can just _feel_ the swell of anger heating off Mark’s body at this remark. “It wasn’t hard or anything; it didn’t hurt. It just…rattled me. Derek called it his house, but it belongs to both of us – that bothered me for some reason in the aftermath. It was as if he didn’t see me as his equal, like he’s the sun and moon and stars, and I’m nothing. I know that sounds weird, but…anyway. Tonight when you squeezed my arms – not that you were hurting me, Mark, because you weren’t – it made me think of him doing that. And then I was outside, pressing my palms to the glass and begging him to let me in. It was rainy and cold and I didn’t have pants on and I was so upset and scared. And I wasn’t _just_ upset because I was locked outside or because I’ve never seen him that angry before, but also because, like…I was scared that that’s who I had become in that moment: a woman cruel enough to cheat on her husband, that that’s all I would ever be again. But mostly it was just…traumatizing. I didn’t want to ever have to admit that, because I don’t want that night to have some sort of hold over me, but it’s the truth. I really didn’t think he’d let me back in…but he did. And tonight when you told me to stay and that you were going to go – that’s what Derek said when he let me in and I begged him to give me a chance. So it just…it took me back to that night and all shreds of sanity flew out the window.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t stay,” he says when it becomes evident that Addison is done telling him what happened. “When Derek saw us, I tried to just grab my shoes and get out of there as quickly as I could. If I had known that was what he was going to do…”

“It’s okay. It was probably a good call to get the heck out of dodge.”

“It’s probably also a good call not to yell at you in the future.”

“Well, I was yelling too,” she replies. “And realistically, we’re both stubborn, so this probably won’t be the last time there’s yelling.”

“Still. Addison, if I say something that upsets you or triggers you, tell me. I don’t want you to be scared like that again.”

Addison presses her lips together, feeling hesitation strain through her. “But I’m not…I don’t want you to treat me differently because of this. I’m not…I’m not _weak_.”

“I don’t think you’re weak. Quite the opposite. And also, just…sign the papers when you’re ready, Addie. When and if you want to. I selfishly don’t want to share you and I don’t want you to go to Seattle and not come back.”

“You’re not selfish for thinking that, Mark. But I am going to come back.”

“Okay. Do you want to get something comfier on and get some sleep?”

“Y-yeah,” Addison says, knowing that while she might _not_ be a weak person, she is certainly weaker now than she was earlier this evening.

Mark grabs a pair of pajamas for her, and she’s too tired to do anything but just let him unbutton her top, unclasp her bra, and slide a hand beneath her to lift up her hips so he can pull a pair of slim fit trousers down her legs. He does it so tenderly that if she did not feel like her tear ducts had nothing left to give, she is certain she would be tearing up. _You’re changing me like an infant_ , Addison thinks and almost laughs because her mental fatigue is starting to seem a lot more like hysteria.

Mark presses a kiss to the edge of her forehead once she has pajamas on, and then guides her back to the pillow. “You’re okay,” he whispers in a soothing voice. Addison lets her eyes slip closed when he wraps an arm protectively around her. He feels so warm against her. “Sleep now. You’re okay.” 

_I’m pregnant, Mark_ , she tests the phrase out in her head. She is surprised to discover she genuinely wants to tell him; she had been springing back and forth about this since Sunday. _Not now though_. It truly feels like she cannot make her voice work anymore tonight. _And not_ _completely okay_ , she decides in response to Mark’s reassurances before she collapses into an exhausted slumber. _But okay enough. Okay enough for now because he’s here with me._

\------


	7. Hang On, Hang On

**Chapter 7. Hang On, Hang On**  
  
“You awake?”  
  
“Mm-hmm,” Addison answers, having recently opened her eyes and fidgeted a bit beneath his warm embrace, apparently enough to have woken him. The temptation to drift back to sleep is strong, however. Through a small gap in Mark’s drapes (ones she plans to replace very, very soon), she observes that it is still dark out, the sky a star-worn and bruised blue spread over the other high-rise buildings. She blinks a few times in an attempt to orient herself until the fuzzy numbers on the bedside clock become readable. _4:57_. “Too early to be up though,” she adds.   
  
“Are you okay, Ad?”  
  
“I am.”  
  
Mark breathes into her hair, making the strands tickle against his parted lips. “It’s just that when we went to sleep before you were a lot more relaxed, but right now you feel really…well, stiff.”  
  
“Should I be insulted that we’re pressed up against each other and you’re _not_ the one who’s stiff?”  
  
“Funny lady,” Mark lifts his head to stamp a kiss on her cheek. His fingers brush against her shoulder. “Are you okay though?”   
  
“Not really, I guess. I don’t know.” The exhale Addison releases is rickety, and she crawls her way out from Mark’s hold, knowing she needs to do this, do this now, and thinking that maybe being a little disoriented from lack of sleep will somehow, though for reasons unclear, make this easier to share.   
  
Addison sits up, folding her legs to her chest. “I have to tell you something,” she begins cautiously. She looks and sounds so vulnerable that Mark realizes whatever it is must be serious enough that he should sit as well.  
  
“What is it?”   
  
“I’m…” she blinks. “I’m pregnant, Mark.”  
  
“Oh,” he says in response, eyebrows furrowing together. “Okay. I didn’t think…okay. Addison, I’ll…I’ll support whatever you want to do.”   
  
Tears collect in Addison’s eyes, but she cannot really pinpoint why. She appreciates though that while she tries to work through Mark’s words and her potential reply, he doesn’t say anything. He circles a hand around one of her wrists, thumb smoothing over the delicate skin and lingering over her radial artery.   
  
“I wasn’t sure what I wanted you to say when I told you,” she finally responds, voice cracking hard, “but I feel like it’s not…not _that._ ”   
  
“Hey,” Mark reaches out with his free hand to squeeze one of her knees. “I said it because it’s true. You have the right to your own body. But Addie, it’s not like I don’t have feelings about this. I know this is the _last_ thing either of us expected, but I actually hope you decide to have him or her. I want to do this with you.”   
  
“Do you even _like_ kids?” She sniffles.  
  
“Depends on how loud they are. I would like _our_ kid though.”  
  
“Well, what if I have the baby, but we don’t work out as a couple?”  
  
“Then I guess I’ll be the hot single dad with the hot ex-girlfriend and we share custody of our cute, probably bossy and know-it-all kid,” Mark tells her. “I wouldn’t abandon you guys. I would be involved. But I have no intention of this not working out.”  
  
Addison stares down at her knees, and Mark feels his heart sink when he considers that her desires and intentions might not match his. “But maybe you do...? Did finding out you’re pregnant make you feel like you’re stuck? Like, you’d rather have a baby with Derek, or just…not me?”  
  
“It’s not about Derek,” she says, mostly convinced, but accepting that it is also very, very complicated, especially since she will be seeing her husband in a matter of days. “I think I _like_ being stuck with you, Mark. I do. It’s just scary, that’s all. It’s also going to get so much worse, you know.”  
  
“Worse?”  
  
She initially presents him with an apprehensive look, but then her expression shifts and she lifts her chin a bit, as if issuing a challenge rather than a warning.  
  
“Yes, worse,” she elaborates. “I’ve done my job long enough to know what’s coming, Mark. It is not going to be pretty, not for either of us. There are going to be long stretches where my sex drive will be shot to hell, and I will strangle you if your hand even so much as _accidentally_ touches my boobs. There will be hormone-ridden meltdowns and tantrums. I’m going to get big – _really_ big. I will complain constantly about my back, my hips, heartburn, stretch marks, swelling, and probably a hundred other things. And I haven’t even mentioned the actual _labor_ yet. I will scream horrible things at you and if you look at the lower half of my body and see my vagina in a medical way, I can promise you that you will never, ever view me or my crotch the same way again. Some women _shit_ themselves while giving birth, Mark. Actually shit. And I’ve seen it. It can happen.”  
  
“But…there will be a baby at the end. Our baby,” he says with a shy flash of a smile. “The rest of it sounds…not ideal for you, but the baby part will be good, right? I’m still in. This isn’t a well-meaning speech, Ad. I swear. I’m serious about this. I’m _in_ , okay?”  
  
“Okay, Mark,” she says softly. “Okay then.”  
  
“So…what are you thinking?”  
  
“I’m thinking that even though I’m very freaked out and stressed, that I’d like to have a baby too. I’d like to have a baby with you.”  
  
“Really?” Mark responds enthusiastically, and she laughs when he pulls her back into his embrace and kisses her deeply. She curls her fingers around the back of his neck, briefly smiling and giggling against his mouth. Addison lets the kissing go on for a few minutes because it does feel good in spite of her general lack of interest in all things sex lately, but she eventually pulls back and offers a tired smile.  
  
“I should add that you will be hearing a _lot_ of vomiting in the coming weeks. This nausea has been relentless. And I really do have no sex drive to speak of at the moment, so that’s going to be a bummer for you.”  
  
“I’ll survive. Alright…so do you have anything important going on today?”  
  
“I’m a surgeon, Mark,” she smirks. “It’s all important.”  
  
“You know what I mean.”  
  
“Nothing pre-scheduled, and nothing Morales and Harper can’t handle. You don’t think I should go in? I’m pregnant, not terminal.”  
  
“I don’t think either of us should. It was kind of a rough night.”  
  
“And not in a good way.”  
  
“You’re getting very, very good at these innuendos,” Mark grins and taps her on the nose. He gives her a little nudge, gesturing for her to lie back down. “I’m going to call in for us. You go back to sleep.”  
  
“Wait,” Addison says, tugging on his arm before he can pull away. She gives him a pleading smile. “Stay with me a little longer. It’s too early to call anyway.”  
  
“Are you going to make it worth my while sexually if I stay?”  
  
“Not a chance.”  
  
“Right. Well, I guess I can tolerate staying anyway,” Mark teases. He settles close to her and hovers a hand near her stomach. His expression turns serious. “Is it okay if I…?”   
  
“Oh. Of course,” Addison replies, genuinely touched that he felt he needed to ask permission. His hand slips under her pajama top, and she starts to giggle.  
  
“Sorry. Does that tickle?”  
  
“No, you’re just making me laugh. Lower,” she explains, moving his hand to the right spot. “This kid is camping out in my uterus, Mark, not my stomach. Didn’t you pay the slightest bit of attention during obstetrics rotation when we were interns? Or more plausibly, given how much time you’ve spent with me, you know, _down there_ , shouldn’t you have a better understanding of my anatomy?”  
  
“I think that when you’re not nauseous I’m able to make your anatomy very, very happy,” he retorts, but ends up being too distracted to meet Addison’s eyes to see if she attempted a tolerant smile at this. Mark’s fingers flex against her skin. “Holy shit, Addison, our _kid_ is in here right now. I’m…I’m so happy about this.”   
  
“I am too,” she tells him. “Just…feeling all the feelings, I think. So it might take me a bit longer to match your enthusiasm, but I want this too.”  
  
Mark pulls his hand away from the anatomically correct region and cups it around the curve of her cheek. His voice is gentle and measured when he speaks. “Hey, Ad? I love you. More than, like, anything,” he says, and her eyebrows lift a little. Addison suspected this would come up eventually if they could manage not to screw everything up along the way, but it still nearly makes her body jolt in surprise. She wonders if Mark recognizes how significant this is for him to feel something he probably never expected to feel: this feeling.   
  
“I’m not just saying it because of the baby,” Mark continues. “And it’s okay if you’re not ready to say it back, or if you aren’t sure what you feel. I just want you to know that I love you. I’ve wanted you to know for a while, actually.”  
  
Addison sucks in a nervous but happy breath, and tells Mark _thank you_. It feels like a truly crappy thing to respond with because she is certain that despite Mark’s assurance she does not have to offer up the same sentiment, realistically, who _wouldn’t_ want to hear those words back? Her cheeks flush pinker and she cuddles into Mark’s chest so she doesn’t have to look at him. Truthfully, an expression of gratitude is all she can provide; she is not sure if the block she feels is about indecisiveness or wedding rings or permanency or something else, but Addison just _knows_ that now isn’t the right time. _Not yet, but getting there, I think_ , she determines.  
  
“What’s it about?” She asks to fill the silence, running her fingertips lightly along his collarbone.  
  
“What’s what about?”  
  
“A while ago you said this wasn’t just about sex. What do you feel it’s about? If...if you don’t mind me asking…”  
  
“Oh,” Mark grins and kisses the crown of her head. “Sure. That’s easy. It’s about how amazing you are, and how beautiful you are – all of you, but I’m partial to the hair and smile. And the breasts and long legs, of course. It’s about how thoughtful you are. It’s about how good you are at your job. I know I don’t see your surgeries that often, but when I get the chance...you’re just incredible when you’re in the zone like that; every movement is so purposeful and skilled. You’re like the Michelangelo of in-utero procedures or something. It’s also about how cute you are when you fiddle with your glasses or crinkle your nose. And how you interrupt me constantly. And how bossy and opinionated you are and how good you are at crossword puzzles. It’s about your laugh and your snarky comments. And how much you like reading. And I _know_ I’m probably supposed to keep this G-rated and you’re gonna hate this, but you’re incredible in the sack and the sounds you make and the way you taste and the way you look when I’m inside you and you’re about to–”  
  
“Mark, don’t,” she laughs with embarrassment, pushing at his chest. They resituate themselves a little so that they’re looking at one another. He holds his palm against the small of her back.   
  
“Fine, dialing it back. I do like that you at least allow me to get in _some_ racier remarks before your supposed Connecticut sensibilities kick in. And it’s also about the baby now. I’m sure there are major things I’m forgetting, but that…that’s what it’s about for me, Addison. I don’t know if it makes sense laid out like that with tons of conjunctions the grammar snob in you probably loathes, but I mostly just mean that it’s about you.”  
  
She leans forward to kiss him. “Thank you, Mark.”  
\-------  
  
“So how old is your little guy now?” Addison asks her new OB and old friend, Maggie Connelly, before glancing back to Mark to provide background. It feels easier to be chatty now that a urine sample has been provided, blood has been drawn, a physical exam has been completed, and the medical history portion of the prenatal appointment is over. “I delivered him. Pretty routine delivery, right?”  
  
“Tyler will be eight in a few weeks, believe it or not. And yes, good memory. Not that giving birth was _pleasant_ exactly, but all things considered, it was a good experience. And only a few threats to kill my husband,” Maggie glances over at Mark. “That’s going to happen, just so you know.”  
  
Mark laughs. “I’ve been warned, yeah.”  
  
“He’s been warned about a lot of things,” Addison smirks.   
  
“Well he hasn’t gone running for the hills yet, so that’s a good sign,” Maggie points out while applying gel to Addison’s abdomen and pelvic area.   
  
Addison glances over at Mark. A shy, sweet smile graces her lips. “Yeah. He’s staying with me.”  
  
He reaches out and takes her hand.   
  
“Alright, now to the good part,” Maggie murmurs. She moves the transducer back and forth, and adjusts the display screen more towards the parents-to-be once a good shot of the gestational sac comes into view. “See that?” Maggie points out the important parts, knowing that her patient is able to see past the grainy whorls of black and white, but that the patient’s boyfriend might need a bit more clarification.   
  
“Oh,” Addison whispers. Her eyes lock on the baby. _Our blueberry_ , she thinks, remembering a ridiculous book she once saw that indicated what size fruit the baby is week-by-week. The image on the screen is enough to make her breath catch in her throat. When Mark’s fingers tighten around hers, she can tell it is just as stirring for him. “It’s so _different_ when it’s your own. For ‘typical’ pregnancies what you see on the screen as the health provider just feels predictable and autopilot-ish. But not…not this time.”  
  
“That’s very true,” Maggie says. “Alright. There we go. Heartbeat looks nice and strong. Growth is perfect too.”  
  
“I can’t…oh, wait. It’s too soon to hear it, isn’t it?”  
  
“Yes, that’s right. Sorry, Mark. I should have explained that,” Maggie apologizes at the same time Addison mutters _Jesus Christ, Mark_.   
  
“Hey, be nice to the man.”  
  
“The sad and hilarious part about this is that he’s _also_ a doctor,” Addison says. “Plastics and ENT, but mostly known for Plastics.”  
  
Mark chuckles. “Notice the disdain in her voice when she says that word.”  
  
“I have some informational pamphlets I’ll send you guys home with,” Maggie says to Mark. “You can make Addie read them with you, even though she’ll tell you she doesn’t need to. Alright, seven weeks along, so that puts your estimated due date at –”  
  
“April seventh,” Addison interrupts. She had done the math on this shortly after she discovered she was pregnant.  
  
“Doctors truly are the worst patients. Yes, smarty. You’re correct.”  
  
“Okay, so…” Addison accepts a wipe from Maggie to remove the gel from her exposed skin. She then sits up and begins to pull her top down, expression both anxious and impatient. “That’s _it_ , right?”  
  
Her doctor laughs, quickly understanding the look she is receiving. “Yes. Go pee. I know it’s always extra fun to have a full bladder for this. Go left once you reach the nurses station. And when you get back I want to hear about the quads you recently delivered.”  
  
“I don’t remember her being that sassy during med school,” Maggie shares once the patient has left the room.  
  
Mark shakes his head in disagreement. “She was hiding it well then. Hey, Doctor Connelly? Is there anything in particular I, uh, should know about the pregnancy? Besides, obviously like, _everything_.”  
  
“Keep her fed. Make sure she puts her feet up from time-to-time, which I imagine will be a challenge given that she’s a surgeon and also came here today in ridiculously tall heels. Remember the mood swings will pass, and never, ever complain if you’re tired or have a sore back or something, because believe me, she definitely doesn’t want to hear it. Read the pamphlets too, but mostly just…be there,” Maggie says. “That’s all she really wants and needs.”  
  
\------  
  
“So I have vague memories of meeting your husband once or twice when we’ve been seen each other at alumni things, and that was…not him,” Maggie says to Addison. She raises a curious eyebrow. Mark had just left the exam room to grab a coffee for himself and a ginger tea for Addison, knowing this would give the women some time to talk shop. _And talk about me_ , he assumed when he closed the door behind him.   
  
“No, it’s not,” Addison replies. “Long story short and minus most of the theatrics, Derek and I are separated, and I’m with Mark now. It’s new, but it’s…yeah. It’s good.”   
  
“I like him,” Maggie offers a nod of approval. “He’s really sweet to you. Easy on the eyes, too. Your baby is going to be ridiculously beautiful. Upper East Side playgroups are going to _hate_ you guys.”   
  
\------  
  
“I got you something,” Mark says later that evening when Addison comes to the kitchen table after grabbing an apple (usually on the “fine but not my favorite fruit” list, but her taste buds are wildly different now and she is certain she has never loved anything in her life as much as she loves green apples).  
  
“Why?”   
  
“I would have also accepted a ‘thank you’ there,” Mark laughs. “Just because, Addison. Well, one thing is for the baby and the other is a calendar I didn’t feel was enough of a surprise to wrap, so I guess now that I’m thinking about it…neither is actually an Addison-specific present. But for the calendar, well, we didn’t have one before this, so I thought we could use it to mark the due date.”  
  
“Oh,” she smiles. “Yeah, I’d really like that.”  
  
Mark pushes a small tissue-wrapped item over to her. She sets her beloved apple down to peel back the crinkly wrapping to reveal a Yankees onesie in newborn size. She gently fingers the soft material, tracing over the team emblem and vertical pinstripes.  
  
“You know I actually root for the Red Sox, right?” Addison enjoys a little too much the dark expression that crosses over his face. “Relax, Mark. That was a joke. I think you know I don’t really care about baseball. But I do really care about this onesie. I love it. So thank you.”  
  
“Jesus, woman. Don’t scare me like that.”  
  
\------


	8. Ships on the Shoreline

**Chapter 8. Ships on the Shoreline**  
  
“You don’t have to keep doing that if you don’t want to,” Addison says on Friday night when they are in bed and his fingertips glide along her upper back. “You never say anything about it, but I know you always do this when I’m upset. But I swear I’m okay, Mark. I’ve made it three days in a row without having a meltdown – God, my bar for stability is so freaking low right now – so if you’re tired, sleep. I don’t want to keep you up.”  
  
“I don’t mind,” Mark shakes his head. He doesn’t bother to tell Addison that even though she’s informing him that he doesn’t have to do this, her body language is contradicting her words; every so often she releases a happy, content sigh to indicate that his hand moving along the muscles of her back feels good, and she nuzzles closer, brushing her nose against his neck and throat. “It’s not like it’s a miserable experience, you know, having a smokin’ hot woman curled up against me, even though I know sex isn’t going to happen because said woman isn’t feeling so great right now.”   
  
“I just meant that if you’re tired…”  
  
“I’m fine, Addison. Plus, I know you’re okay, but it seems like this helps you.”  
  
“Helps me?”  
  
“You’re kind of a worrier,” he kisses the bridge of her nose. “That giant brain of yours never seems to power down all the way, and it just feels like rubbing your back relaxes you a bit. You always fall asleep when I do this.”   
  
Addison frowns, trying to figure out how to feel about this. It is nice to be taken care of, and the warmth and connection she feels while snuggled in his arms is ridiculously wonderful. It makes her feel loved, and though she can’t return the words to him quite yet, she hopes in some way that Mark is able to know how much she loves this, and that maybe _that_ love is meaningful to him. At the same time though, she does not want to appear fragile or needy or entirely dependent on someone else.   
  
“Hey,” Mark continues, and she can tell he understands the reason for the look of hesitancy. “You’re still the baddest bitch I know, Addison. I know you don’t _need_ me to do this, but I like to. Really.”  
  
She gives him a small smile. “I am a worrier,” she admits. “And usually when I worry I either freak out and cry or just end up taking the bad mood out on whoever is closest to me, which is usually you. You’re a lucky guy, Mark Sloan.”  
  
“Nah, you’re fine. Plus I like watching you fall asleep.”  
  
Her lips part in a bemused smile. “Why?”   
  
“You’re just… _cute_ when you’re sleeping. Like, the second before you fall asleep you always let out the tiniest sigh, and sometimes you’ll sort of smile in your sleep. I don’t know. I just like to, that’s all.”  
  
Addison laughs, but does not dislike this explanation. “That’s cheesy. Maybe even cheesier than you calling me ‘honey’ the other night. I wanted to tease you about that and ask how it’s possible for you to say a term of endearment without spontaneously combusting, but the hyperventilating thing kind of got in the way.”  
  
“I do sleep, you know,” he says, words gentle but also with a hint of defensive clarification. “It’s not like I’m staring at you all night in a subdued _Fatal Attraction_ way or plotting your murder, Ad.”  
  
“I’m armed with a lot more hormones now, so I would probably murder you before you murder me.”  
  
“True. Hey, let’s just say that that’s why I make sure you fall asleep first.”  
  
“Ha. Nope. I’m sticking with the cheesy reason. Hey...Mark? Can I ask...how long have you loved me for? Or been in love with me, I guess.”  
  
“You really want to talk about the cheesy stuff tonight, don’t you?” He brushes his thumb across her temple. “Maybe like a year and-a-half…maybe two years? It was when we started spending more time together, just the two of us. I didn’t plan on doing anything about it or saying anything, especially since it didn’t feel like I was miserable without you or pining after you...it was just something I was aware of, I guess. It wasn’t longer than that though; I always _liked_ you, of course, and obviously you were fun to look at, but it’s not like this was an unrequited thing for the past decade.”  
  
Addison considers this, and runs her fingertips along his shoulder. Her breath threads softly against his collarbone when she asks her next question: “What made you realize you were in love with me?”  
  
“I don’t know,” Mark answers honestly. “It just happened, which I know is a lazy answer, but I’m not sure know how else to explain it. It was like a ‘right now’ thing. One day I just looked at you and you were there and I realized you were the woman I loved.”  
  
“Yeah, I think that’s what it’s like for me too,” Addison responds, not able to reveal anything beyond that, but hoping he understands what she is hurtling closer to. “A ‘right now’ thing.”  
  
\------  
  
She smiles gratefully when Mark joins her outside on the balcony. It might not be the same as looking through a cute little viewfinder on top of the Empire State Building, but having dinner at his little outdoor table is beautiful and idyllic in its own way. Central Park and the Hudson are both visible beneath the expansive Manhattan skyline.   
  
“I feel like this is good preparation for feeding a little kid,” Mark says when he sets a tray in front of Addison that features a crust-less grilled cheese, Graham crackers, apple slices, and a large glass of orange juice.  
  
Addison laughs. “It’s basically all I like right now.”  
  
“Me too,” he says, and she gives him a disbelieving look. “Well, obviously it’s _not_ , but I feel like it kind of has to be…when I made scrambled eggs this morning, you looked like you were about to puke. It seems safer just to eat what you’re eating, and then once you’re asleep go back into the kitchen and stuff my face with everything you have an aversion to at the moment. You’re going to end up being very bad for my diet.”  
  
“I really was about to throw up from the smell of those eggs. The nausea should ease up or disappear altogether in the second trimester though. And just think: when I’m in Seattle, you can eat whatever you want without a woman screaming at you in the background about it.”   
  
Mark sighs. Her flight is tomorrow morning. “I could still go with you, you know,” he offers. “I could just hang in the hotel, or go sit on a ferryboat or something.”  
  
“It’s not that I don’t want you to, Mark. It’s just that I know I need to do this on my own. Does that make sense?”  
  
“It does, yeah.”  
  
“Are you worried about me not coming back?” Addison asks. She watches Mark rub his lips together and shake his head, but it is obvious he is lying. He looks sad. “Hey, you’re not going to get slapped with back child support in eighteen years, I promise,” she jokes, and watches a small smile move over his face.  
  
“I know, Addie.”  
  
“What can I do in the meantime? You always try to help me when I’m worried, so what can I do to help _you_? Besides sex, I mean. I’ve been so nauseous lately that even the idea of sex or anything physical just sounds completely repulsive.”  
  
Mark chuckles. “And to think there have been times I’ve thought that you’re too good for my ego.”  
  
“Mark,” she prompts.  
  
“Well, I guess since a blow job is off the table…” he shifts away instinctively to avoid a swat to his shoulder, even though he knows she will not let go of her grilled cheese sandwich for anything. “Just come back. Help your patient, and do whatever you need to do with Derek, but I don’t care about the papers at this point, Ad. Marry five other guys while you’re in Seattle, for all I care – just come back to New York. That’s all I want.”   
  
“Okay.”  
  
“My personal preference aside though, I need you to know that, if this is all I get…I would rather have had this than nothing. And I’m not trying to make you feel bad or feel guilty about whatever you decide to do while you’re gone, it’s just that –”  
  
“But, Mark, I’m not –”  
  
“Let me finish. I just want you to know that the past two months have _mattered_ to me. That’s all.”  
  
Mark watches as she looks at him, her expression so soft and beautiful. The orange and yellow layers of the sunset behind her manage to illuminate her features and make her hair glow brighter.   
  
“They’ve mattered to me too,” she finally says.   
  
“Good. Now drink your juice and eat your kid food.”  
  
\------  
  
It takes a few back-and-forth rounds (she wonders if maybe Mark is willing to lose more arguments now since she’s pregnant and hormonal), but Addison eventually gets him to agree it will be easier for her to have a cab take her to the airport for her late morning flight. Once she slips an apple into her Bottega Veneta tote, she walks back to the living room and sets her tote by her suitcase, knowing she has a few more minutes before she needs to leave.   
  
“I told you I like this all black look, right?” Mark grins. “It’s hot.”  
  
Addison picks at a piece of fuzz on the Dolce and Gabbana coat she has looped over an arm, and then adds the coat to the off-to-Seattle pile by the door. She feels a little silly taking a coat, but she isn’t quite sure what to expect from an early September in Seattle, and bringing an article of clothing that falls into the collection of pieces she owns that she feels qualify as kicking-ass-and-taking-names couture is probably a good idea.   
  
“Thank you,” she walks back over to Mark and settles her hands on his waist. “It’s the angry prospective-divorcée look. Including the curls. Sometimes I like to think of them as my ‘bitch curls.’ And I’m definitely _feeling_ like a bitch too at the moment because this pesky kid of ours won’t let up on the heartburn this morning.”   
  
“Well, you look great,” Mark reaches out and threads his fingers through one of her curls. “And I hope you have…a good time?” He makes a face and Addison breathes out a tiny laugh. “I don’t think there is an advice column for what to say in this situation. I hope the surgery goes well though, and I hope you get what you want and need out of this trip.”  
  
Her eyes start to water, and he notices immediately. “Addison, don’t cry…”  
  
“It’s the stupid hormones,” she mumbles, shifting her gaze up for a moment to prevent moisture from being shed. She blinks a few times, and regains some control. Then she smiles at Mark so he can see she’s okay, or at least able to hang in there. “I mean, let’s be real, it’s also _me_ , but right now I’m choosing to blame the baby.”  
  
“Hey, leave Pickle out of this.”   
  
“Well I… _wait_. I’m sorry,” she starts to laugh. “Did you just refer to our child as ‘Pickle?’”  
  
“Yeah. We need to call him or her something. A nickname. ‘The baby’ sounds boring. And since we don’t know if it’s a boy or girl, we keep having to throw every pronoun variation available into the mix when we’re talking about the baby. We’re busy people, Addison. We don’t have that kind of time.”  
  
“You make me smile,” she says. “Alright, well I can’t stall any longer. I need to get going. I asked the front desk to call me a cab at eight.”  
  
“Okay, let me grab –”  
  
“No, stay here. It’s a rolling suitcase and I truly didn’t pack too much, so that can’t be your reason for not letting me do this alone.”  
  
“Addison, let me walk down there with you. Don’t be stubborn.”  
  
She shakes her head hard enough that her curls flutter. Her expression is a troubled one. “It’s not stubbornness; it’s self-preservation. It has to be here. Mark, I swear to God if you walk out there with me, I’m going to struggle to get into the cab without you and I’m going to start crying and I seriously might not be able to stop. So _please_. I need you to kiss me and say goodbye to me in here, okay? The longer I’m with you the harder it’s going to be for me to leave,” Addison takes a shuddery breath. “And this – this well-meaning speech should actually be a relief for you to hear. There’s no way anything you’ve said or done with me is sappier than what I’m telling you now.”  
  
“Come here then,” Mark tugs her closer and tilts his head down to kiss her. Her lips meet his gently, and her hands slip up from his shoulders to cradle his face to her palms, fingertips lightly grazing over his stubble. Mark lets her control the pace and rhythm, and when she finally pulls back, they’re both a little breathless.  
  
Her lips quiver a bit. “I’ll miss you.”  
  
“I’ll miss you too, Addie. Take care of yourself and Pickle. And you’ll text me when you get there, right?”  
  
“I will. Well, um...bye,” Addison replies, spinning around quickly on Stuart Weitzman suede pumps and moving towards the door to gather her things. It feels a little abrupt and brusque, but Mark can tell she’s doing everything she can to leave before she starts to cry.   
  
\------  
  
The clouds rush below her in chaotic wisps as she looks out her airplane window, some 30,000 plus feet in the air and somewhere over Idaho, perhaps an hour or so outside her destination. Addison’s hand brushes against her stomach. “Hi, Pickle,” she whispers. She knows her baby won’t be able to hear any sounds for a number of weeks, but she can’t help herself, which she imagines makes her like any other cliché newly-expectant mother who is happy to be carrying a baby.  
  
Addison thinks of Derek. Of what she could and should say. _We got successful. We got busy and we got lazy. We didn’t even bother to fight any more. And Mark was there and I missed you._  
  
 _There’s nothing left of us_ , she determines at last, reaching into her tote to pull out a familiar set of papers, slightly worn and creased around the edges from her fingerprints. They had a life together, and for the most part, it had been a great one. She knows she will always love Derek and care for him and want him to be happy and one day hopes they can even be friends again. It was a great life; it was just not meant to be a _whole_ life. In some ways, it was over even before she had decided it was over.   
  
And then Addison thinks of the man she left in New York. She reaches back into her tote in search of a pen.   
  
\------  
  
“Hey,” Addison says when Mark answers his cell. She privately congratulates herself for not being _that woman_ and crying at the sound of his voice. “How are you?”  
  
“I’m good. I’m glad you called. I’ve actually been clearing out the guest room so that when you come back you can expand your interior decorating to include a nursery.”  
  
“Really?”  
  
“Yeah. Slowly but surely. So, um. How was the flight and…how is it out there?”  
  
“The flight was fine,” Addison peers out the window, taking in a cloudy, mist-covered view of Puget Sound and the Olympic Mountains looming in the distance. “And the hotel is nice, and what I see out the window right now is nice. Not too much to report just yet, other than I’m planning to take a nap before I head to the hospital this evening to check in with Richard. And visit with him. That man, in his infinite wisdom when telling me about the patient he wants my help with, neglected to mention the oh-so-tiny detail that he recently had _brain_ surgery. Tumor on his optic nerve.”   
  
“Jeez. Is he okay?”  
  
“According to him, but I’ll definitely be stealing his chart later to confirm this for myself. He sounded well on the phone just now though. And, you know, obviously it helped that his operation was led by one of the best Neuro guys.”   
  
“Are you...nervous about seeing Derek?”  
  
“Yes. I think so, at least,” she shares. “But I’m also...angry? And annoyed? And armed with a variety of insults and short speeches that I may or may not use, but have practiced in the mirror an embarrassing number of times. I’m not...I’m mostly not sure exactly how I am just yet.”  
  
“Addison, are you _sure_ you don’t want me to come out there?”  
  
“I’m sure. Not that I know anyone here besides Richard and the elusive Derek, but having you out here would feel too...sneaky. And mean. So you’d be here and I’d make you stay in the hotel room at all times, which would basically make you like a transcontinental booty call.”  
  
“See, but the ‘booty call’ part would imply sex and that you aren’t currently dealing with nausea and sore breasts, so I suspect that part of the arrangement wouldn’t hold up.”  
  
“We’ll have sex again eventually. Non-booty call, live-in-the-same-place, really good sex.”  
  
“I wasn’t complaining.”  
  
“I know. I know you weren’t. You’ve been very understanding, given that you’re not really used to going without. It’ll happen though, so don’t bring home a cute peds nurse for a kitchen table rendezvous while I’m gone...”   
  
“I can’t tell if you’re joking or being serious,” Mark admits after she has gone silent. “You really think I would cheat on you after all this time?”  
  
“No, but I think that I’m often insecure, especially now that I’m pregnant and practically celibate due to queasiness and exhaustion. And I always find subtle ways to make things complicated and I’m afraid to get hurt,” she says, which Mark realizes does not directly answer his question.  
  
“There isn’t anyone else,” he says firmly. “There _won’t_ be anyone else.”  
  
“I know. I’m sorry. I hope I didn’t make you feel bad. I…I know you wouldn’t, Mark. I just need to ask questions like this sometimes so I can hear the answers out loud rather than just _knowing_ the answers. I know it’s weird. But the fact that I can ask and you can answer, or vise versa...it’s good, right? It’s good that we can talk about these things and be honest with one another. It’s also kind of a miracle we’ve managed to do that since the beginning, but somehow we have, and I think that’s helped this relationship not dissolve into a hailstorm of misery and self-loathing.”  
  
“You didn’t make me feel bad. It’s okay. It’s not like I don’t understand why you’d ask, Addie, given my prior manwhore-ish ways. Just believe me when I say I wouldn’t do that to you. I only want to be with you. We’re good together. And you’re worth it.”  
  
She grins. “You bet your ass I am.”  
  
\------


	9. Transatlanticism

**C** **hapter 9: Transatlanticism**  
  
“They ‘Mc’ everything here,” Addison tells Mark a few days later. She drops into the tufted armchair, happy to be back in the comfort of her hotel room. She slips out of her beige pumps while attempting to stifle a yawn.   
  
She has been busy, which has mostly limited her interactions with Mark to quick check-in text messages before she all but collapses at the end of each day in her bed at The Archfield at times she deems embarrassingly early.   
  
Fortunately, things are starting to slow down. She has continued to monitor the twins’ progress (and definitely threw young Meredith Grey a solid by correcting their shared patient’s initial impression of the intern). She agreed to stay a few extra days at Richard’s request due to a pediatric surgeon being on maternity leave (Addison is surprised it has not occurred to her sooner, but when Richard said this, it struck her that one day she would _also_ be on maternity leave). She fills Mark in on what has kept her working long hours before trying to explain the quirks that seem to envelop Seattle Grace. There was the newborn she treated who, for reasons science could not explain, stabilized enough for Derek to perform spinal surgery; the poor intern with the ectopic pregnancy; and the surgery on a kind young man with Cystic fibrosis.  
  
“They what?” Mark asks.   
  
“They use the word ‘Mc’ in front of things, sometimes. They call Derek ‘McDreamy,’ for instance. And the elevators here are weird.”   
  
“Derek must McHate that. How…” Mark hesitates. “How is he?”  
  
“Today he actually acknowledged the presence of the Ruler of All That is Evil. So that’s…progress?”  
  
“And what’s the other woman like? You hadn’t mentioned…did you meet her?”  
  
“I did. _Girl_ is more appropriate than _woman_ though. I think I like her, actually. My first impression was that she has that whole wide-eyed ‘ooh he’s a brain surgeon’ thing, but she caught something pretty complex on my patient’s ultrasound and did well during the surgery, so she’s definitely smart. I also get the feeling she’s scrappy. She’ll be a good surgeon. I’m thinking general or trauma. Anyway, that’s probably way more than you needed to know. Her name is Meredith.”  
  
“It’s good for me to know her name. She and I are the dirty mistresses.”  
  
Addison’s voice is low when she speaks. “I don’t think of you like that, Mark.”   
  
“I know. Hey, how’s Pickle doing?”  
  
“Pickle is good. And I’m good, I think. The nausea has been better recently. But hey, how’s my favorite non-Pickle baby doing?” Addison asks, hoping for good news. She had asked Mark to check in on Nathan Welsh, her not-so-secret favorite NICU baby suffering from chronic lung disease.   
  
“He’s doing okay, actually. They upped his steroid dosage, but Doctor Harper said he’s stable and his lungs are looking a bit better.”  
  
“Good. Thank you for checking on him. I really appreciate it.”   
  
“Of course. I told him ‘hi’ for you, and felt supremely stupid doing it, but I guess that’s the kind of thing a dad would probably do. Hey, Addie? Do you think you’ll tell Derek about us? It’s up to you. I’m just…wondering.”   
  
“I’m planning to,” she answers. “I — I mean, we both owe him that. And I signed the papers, Mark. I’m telling him tomorrow and I’ll see when he wants to meet with the lawyer.”  
  
The fact that Addison said she _signed_ the papers and _when_ , not _if_ about divorce proceedings makes Mark’s heart leap in hopefulness, but mostly it just surprises him the other feelings he previously expected himself to experience – that she wants him and not Derek and that he _wins_ – do not occupy any part of him. Instead, he feels sad for Addison for closing the book on her marriage. He realizes this is probably what it feels like to love someone so deeply: to wish for that person to be happy, and to wish that you are the person who offers them that happiness. There is no room for selfishness, for resentment, for rivalries, for self-sabotage.  
  
“Are you okay, Addison? And remember it’s okay if the answer is ‘no.’”  
  
“I think I am,” she answers honestly. “Just have a hug and a back rub ready for me when I get back.”  
  
“And a grilled cheese and glass of orange juice, I’m guessing.”  
  
“Yes, definitely.”  
  
\------  
  
“Am I interrupting?” Addison asks, quickening her pace to catch up to Derek.   
  
“You’re always interrupting.”  
  
“I have the papers, Derek – divorce papers,” she says, and this gets his attention. “So if you want to sign –”  
  
“I’ll sign them immediately,” Derek replies, holding a hand out so quickly it startles her. “I want you out of here as soon as possible.”   
  
“I don’t have them on me. They’re at the hotel, but I’m heading back there to grab lunch later today so…” she trails off when he starts to walk away, muttering something about a sink with an open drain as he steps into the elevator.   
  
“ _Savvy_ ,” she says loudly, which makes him glance up in surprise.   
  
“What about her?” Derek moves back, indicating he will not protest (too much) if she joins him in the elevator.   
  
“I needed to get your attention.”   
  
He shakes his head in disgust. “Yes, yes I know. You told me. I didn’t pay you enough attention and people do desperate things when that happens – which apparently includes getting naked with my best friend.”  
  
“Derek, just listen for a sec,” Addison says, and proceeds to fill him in on Savvy testing positive for the BRCA gene, and her desire to pursue prophylactic surgery.   
  
“Wow. Poor Sav. So you…you’ll do the Hysterectomy and Oophorectomy?”  
  
“I told her to hit ‘pause’ and we can talk about it more and review options when I get back to New York, but yes, if that’s what she wants, then of course I will. For that piece, at least. We haven’t discussed it yet, but I imagine she'll also want a mastectomy.”   
  
“Luckily we know someone who can take care of that. Great at his job, as long she doesn’t mind being operated on by someone with no morality or ethics,” Derek says bitterly. He takes a slow breath and then softens his tone. “Is Savvy’s mom…?”  
  
“Not doing so well,” Addison shakes her head as the elevator doors open for the floor that has Richard’s office. She plans to tell him today will be her last day, even though he will likely object. “Hanging in there, but I can’t imagine she’ll make it to the holidays. Anyway. I’ll get the papers and track you down later.”   
  
\------  
  
“You’ve been here like two seconds,” Derek turns to Addison when she joins him in the empty gallery. “How do you already know your way around the hospital so well?”  
  
“Satan can see through walls,” Addison answers, and he almost smiles. She holds the divorce packet out to him. “Here. You can take them home – if that’s what one can actually call a trailer on acres of land – and look them over. We can sign them tomorrow morning with a lawyer present.”  
  
Derek glances at the page the packet has been folded to. “Looks like you already signed.”  
  
“I did. But we still need to meet with a lawyer. An attorney friend of my mom’s recommended someone out here for proceeding with an uncontested divorce. He’ll make sure everything gets filed. And obviously since we’re in a hospital, it won’t be hard to track down a notary,” Addison explains. It sounds harsh and clinical to point out exactly how this will work, but she is not sure how else to say it and it seems better just to rip the bandage off.   
  
“I forgot how freakishly organized and what a planner you are.”  
  
Addison smirks. “That almost sounded like a compliment.”  
  
“I guess it almost was. I just didn’t think you…” Derek shakes his head. He doesn’t say more, but she seems to understand what he’s getting at and how, despite his anger towards her, how this makes him feel.   
  
“Derek, do you know why I signed first? Because you wouldn’t, or at least not without a lot of brutal agonizing over what the honorable and right thing to do would be. You’d probably even take me back, even if it meant you would be miserable.”  
  
“Apparently it was a lot easier for you to sign.”  
  
“It absolutely wasn’t. I get what this is and what this means, okay? We’re talking about eleven years. Eleven Thanksgivings including the terrible hotdog one, eleven birthdays, eleven Christmases. Believe me, I understand the magnitude of what ending this means, and I’m incredibly sad and in a lot of pain, Derek. I am. You weren’t a perfect husband, especially towards the end, but I’m not going to explain why I feel that way and what drove me to sleep with Mark because I know you don’t want to hear it, and mostly I’m not going to because how we got here doesn’t matter as much as the fact that this is where we are. We both know what effectively ended our marriage, but I also think, though you may see it differently and it certainly doesn’t negate the adultery, our marriage was over before that. It’s over. It was and it is. And it’s horrible and sad and I’ll always care for you and I’ll never stop hoping maybe we can be friends one day because I really will always love you and consider you family…but our marriage is over. Hanging on would be a disservice to us both, and to, well, Meredith. Who I really like, by the way.”  
  
Derek sits quietly with this information, and Addison allows him time to process. It is cowardly, she knows, that she has not told him about Mark yet. Or the baby. But the words feel frozen inside her and she’s too afraid to disrupt the rhythm of an almost-cordial interaction.   
  
“That’s big of you…the Meredith thing,” Derek finally responds.   
  
“Not really. I mean it. When I saw you guys that first time – before I walked up and dropped what was arguably the greatest and most spiteful entrance of all time – you looked…you just looked like you’re able to _breathe_ around her. Like she helps you breathe.”  
  
Derek’s eyes scrunch at this. “I was able to breathe around her…like I was drowning before, or something?”  
  
“Yes. Or something.”  
  
“About Savvy…” he looks over at her, face full of concern.  
  
“Do you want me to keep you updated? You can let the call go to voicemail or just not reply to the text if that’s your continued preference, but I can tell you if she decides to go through with this and when I’m operating. They’re some of our closest friends. I’m sure they would want you to know.”   
  
“Yes, please let me know. I’ll give Weiss a call soon. And I’ll see about coming out there sometime soon to see them.”  
  
Addison nods. “I think they would like that. And I would too, actually.”  
  
“Our marriage is over…or almost over, at least.”   
  
“Derek, I really, truly am sorry. _Deeply_ sorry. I never meant for this to happen. I never meant to hurt you.”   
  
“I know. I…I know.” Derek tries to say more, to express his feelings towards one of her many apologies, but the words don’t come.   
  
“I understand if you can’t forgive me.”   
  
“I can’t yet,” he shakes his head sadly. “Maybe one day. Not him, but with you, I feel like I can at least try. But Addison, will you…will you be okay?”  
  
“I will,” she says, genuinely touched by his concern, and again forcing down the guilt for not sharing with him exactly _why_ she will be okay. “Derek, I'm wondering if…would you mind if I reached out to your sisters? Especially Nancy. I’ve missed them and I’ve wanted to talk to them so badly, but I didn’t want to contact them if…well. I didn’t know if I was supposed to call or not.”   
  
“I think they probably feel the same way about contacting you. But sure. They know, by the way,” Derek says, and then offers a self-deprecating grin. “They like you more than they like me, so they’ll probably be on your side anyway.”  
  
“I doubt that’s true. They love you very much, but you know sometimes you can be a little distant with them too.”   
  
“I’m working on it.”   
  
“Good. Well, I better get going so you have a chance to look that stuff over. I’ll see you tomorrow morning – I’ll text the details once everything’s confirmed. And then I’ll pick up my broomstick and get out of here. What?” She laughs when Derek turns his head sharply in her direction. “Satan has a sense of humor.”  
  
\------  
  
Mark opens the door Friday evening after some light but persistent knocking. He expects to see a toothy neighbor-kid selling something for school or an extracurricular activity, but blinks in surprise when the individual on the other side is Addison.   
  
“You’re…you’re here,” he says with a laugh and shake of disbelief. “I thought your flight wasn’t until -”  
  
She answers with a wide smile. “I wanted to surprise you.”  
  
“Well, you definitely did. Get in here.” Mark cradles her head and gives her a quick peck on her scalp before motioning her through the door. He brings her luggage inside, propping it against the wall. Addison waits until he’s set her stuff down, and then wraps her arms around him in a tight hug.   
  
“Hi,” she says happily.   
  
“Hi yourself.”  
  
“I feel okay, Mark.”  
  
“Good. I’m glad,” he replies. Addison’s teeth scrape lightly against his neck when she smiles again.   
  
“No. I mean I feel _okay_ ,” she tilts back and peers up at him, eyes flashing deviously. She hooks a leg behind him, asking, and knowing she won’t have to wait long for him to respond. Mark grins in understanding and cups the back of her thighs, lifting her up so she can knot both legs around his waist and connect her hands behind his neck. Addison shifts her head down to kiss him once she’s supported in his arms. She kisses him sensually, parting her lips against his and grazing his tongue with hers, first lightly, and then more demandingly. He groans against her mouth and leans back with a desirous grin, and, because it’s been awhile since Addison has wanted this, studies her carefully to ensure she really does.   
  
“Take me to bed,” Addison whispers, subtle laugh lines crinkling the corners of her mouth when she smiles.   
  
\------  
  
Addison glances at her phone when it vibrates the next afternoon, and sees a message from Savvy. _Just dinner tonight. No surgery talk. I had a big argument with Weiss earlier. Lots of fun. We decided to have the discussion when you can fit us in for an appt at work. Is that okay?_  
  
_That’s fine_ , Addison types back quickly. _Hang in there. We’re looking forward to having you guys._  
  
_Dinner isn’t going to be applesauce and crackers, right?_  
  
_No, I promise. Not for you guys at least._ she replies, and goes back to some last-minute tidying. The apartment is cozier now, stylish and inviting in a way that suggests it’s no longer just a bachelor’s residence. There is more art on the walls, cashmere throws, sculptural light fixtures, pops of color, flowers, and a mixture of different textures. Addison also thinks of the now-empty guest room, teeming with possibilities. Potential furniture and decorating ideas are already coming to mind, but unlike the rest of the apartment, to which she has added things to with limited consultation, she wants to ensure Mark is included in all baby-related decisions. He’s really only noticed about three-quarters of the apartment changes so far, but doesn’t seem to mind any of them.  
  
Soon enough, Savvy and Weiss arrive. They hug Addison and reacquaint themselves with Mark. Addison notices the couple appears to be in a pleasant mood, despite their earlier surgery stand-off.   
  
“We’re so glad you guys could come,” she gushes. “Go ahead and sit. I need to check on the chicken really quick, but when I come back we’ll get you set up with drinks and non-apple appetizers.”  
  
“You’re lucky,” Mark says once Addison has left the room. “This is like the first time she’s cooked in weeks. The nausea has been…” he’s cut off when Savvy quickly advances on him. She curls her fist around the collar of Mark’s shirt, twisting the fabric hard. A contentious scowls fills her face, and though Mark isn’t usually intimidated, it is clear this tiny wisp of a blonde means business.   
  
“Just so you know,” Savvy says through gritted teeth, “If you hurt her, I will _bury_ you.”  
  
Mark nods, twisting uncomfortably when Savvy’s grin tightens. “I won’t.”  
  
“Hey, Sav?” Weiss interjects. Mark’s eyes shift slightly to Savvy’s husband. His reaction is calm enough to suggest nothing about this surprises him, but that there is also no way he will be intervening. “If we decide to go through with the surgery, you’re threatening the man who’s potentially going to be operating on your top half. You sure you want to do that?”  
  
“Yep.”  
  
“Okay. You wanna let go of his shirt at least?”  
  
“Nope, I’m good here.”  
  
“Savvy, what are you doing?” Addison asks when she steps back into the living room and observes the bizarre scene in front of her.  
  
“We’re just talking about stock exchanges,” Mark answers, keeping a remarkably straight face. He notices Savvy press her lips together in an attempt not to laugh.   
  
“Mm-hmm, sure. Sav, please release my boyfriend. He’s pretty image-obsessed, so that’s probably a three-hundred-dollar shirt you’re stretching out. But thank you for what I can only assume is you looking out for me.”  
  
“You’re welcome,” Savvy replies. She gives Mark a kind smile to let him know there are no hard feelings, but that she is definitely still serious.  
  
\------  
  
They spoon lazily on the sofa once their guests have departed for the night. Sports highlights play softly in the background. Addison doesn’t object to this most nights, telling him she’s too sleepy to stay awake for long anyway, so he might as well watch what he wants, and then eventually nudge her awake when he’s ready for bed.   
  
“Hey, Mark, can you ease up your grip? If you’re trying to crush my diaphragm, it’s working,” she laughs, wriggling a little under his strong arm. Mark apologizes and quickly relaxes his embrace. Addison’s back is to him, but she can tell something is wrong. “Are you okay?”  
  
“Yeah. I’m fine, Ad.”  
  
She twists around to face him and brings a hand up to stroke his cheek, her eyes flickering with concern. “You don’t look fine. Tell me what’s wrong.”  
  
“Nothing’s _wrong_ -wrong,” he tells her. “I’m just glad you’re here is all.”  
  
“Where else would I be?” She asks with a roll of her eyes, but grows solemn when Mark doesn’t seem able to return her affections. “You didn’t…were you really actually worried that I wouldn’t come back to New York?”  
  
A faint blush clouds over his cheeks, something Addison knows doesn’t happen too often. “Kind of, yeah,” he admits quietly.   
  
“Oh, Mark. That makes me so sad.”  
  
“Sorry. I’m not trying to make you feel –”  
  
“No, sad for _you_. I know there are things I haven’t said yet, but I really care about you. I’m not leaving. You’re stuck with me and Pickle.”  
  
“I know. Just…I know.”  
  
She squeezes his shoulder. “Expect _good_ things to happen, not bad. I know I could be a better example of that since I over-analyze everything…but I think we’ve both always been that way. Maybe it’s mommy issues? Or do you think it’s parental-inflicted issues in general?”  
  
“Doesn’t everyone have those?”  
  
“To some degree, I guess. My mom has gotten better with time, but she was definitely not the fuzziest person growing up. I’ve always been a bit closer to my dad, but he worked long hours, so I was lonely at times. I’m not trying to psychoanalyze you, I promise. I just know Derek told me once that your parents weren’t very…present.”  
  
“Yeah. I was raised by parents who weren’t very interested in having kids,” Mark confirms. “They had friends, they had lives. They weren’t around much at night. And before I went to bed, I’d turn on all the TVs and every light in the house, even in the closets. They’ve been on-and-off throughout the years, lots of trial separations and other relationships and stuff…right now they’re together though. We don’t talk all that much. They love me, but I don’t think it’s in the way that parents are _supposed_ to love their kids.”  
  
“Do they know about me?”  
  
“No. Not yet.”  
  
Addison nods. “My parents know about the divorce, but not the pregnancy or boyfriend thing. I need to tell them. And you should tell yours as well.”  
  
“As much as I’d like to keep us in a bubble to ward off the other Sloans and Forbes Montgomerys…I know,” he sighs in resignation and tucks a strand of hair back behind her ear. “We probably need to just bite the bullet and have them all over for dinner.”  
  
“I agree. Maybe once we get through Savvy’s surgery. Now let’s not talk about them anymore. It’s just going to bum us out.”  
  
“What do you want to talk about? Or… _do_?”  
  
“Nice try,” Addison giggles. “I’m just thinking about us. We’ll be good parents. We’ll make mistakes along the way, but our kid won’t ever need to have to turn every light in the house on.”  
  
“I wasn’t afraid, you know. Just lonely and didn’t want to sleep in an empty house. I guess I’ve never really liked to sleep alone.”  
  
“I didn’t say you were afraid. I slept with my light on a lot when I was a kid, actually. For reading purposes,” she smirks. “The flashlight-under-the-covers thing never works as well as you think it will. I never wanted to _stop_ reading. One time I got sent to my room when I was like nine or so…I can’t remember why, but I’m sure I was mouthing off or something. I was furious though because my nanny was planning to take me to the library - the latest Madeleine L’Engle book had just become available. I actually climbed out my window and scrambled down the wall trellis and walked to the library. My nanny noticed I was gone pretty quickly though, and rather than call the police like my mother wanted to do, she called Ms. Russell first, the librarian, who confirmed I was there, just happily sitting on a beanbag chair reading _A Swiftly Tilting Planet_.”  
  
“Quite the rebel you were. Not sneaking out for a party or to meet up with a boy…but to go to the _library_.”  
  
“This little one has twenty-three of my chromosomes, Mark, so sneaking out for something book-related isn’t entirely out of the question. But at least we’re in an apartment thirty-two floors up. It will be awfully hard to escape.”  
  
“Poor Pickle. He or she really is stuck with us.”


	10. Love and Love Again

**Chapter 10. Love and Love Again**  
  
“Do you notice anything different about me?” Addison asks with a sneaky-looking grin. The sunshine feels pleasant against her skin as she and Mark eat at an outdoor table between surgeries. Their lunch is later than usual today due to starting off the morning at a September prenatal appointment. (Doctor Connelly was nothing short of professional, but naturally, Addison could not resist being snarky due to Mark’s temporary confusion at the last appointment. “Now _that’s_ a heartbeat, Mark.”)  
  
Mark hesitates before replying. “Look, I’m going to assume this isn’t the answer you’re looking for because you probably wouldn’t ask me this in public, but…” he makes a pointed, though quick glance at her chest and smirks. “Your boobs are bigger.”  
  
“My mistake for thinking that _wouldn’t_ be your first guess…” Addison rolls her eyes. She holds up her left hand and wiggles her fingers. “See? No rings. They’re at the bottom of Elliott Bay.”  
  
“You threw them in the water? How very… _Titanic_ of you.”  
  
“I didn’t know what else to do with them and I liked the idea of a dramatic gesture, so. Anyway. I just wanted you to know. You’re not wrong about the boobs though. You’ll eventually get to reacquaint yourself with them…they’re just _so_ sore right now.”  
  
“I do miss them,” Mark purposely tries to sigh in a way that indicates nostalgia, just to tease her a bit more. “But I will continue to abide by the no-contact order. At least I’m allowed to look. That makes time apart from the twins a little easier.”  
  
“God, you’re disgusting.”  
  
“Not news.”  
  
She shrugs in agreement. “Well, on a separate note, I texted Derek to let him know we’re going to proceed with the surgery. No response yet, but at least he’s been…notified.”  
  
“Good. And on a separate- _but_ -related note, am I allowed to get my bike out of the brownstone? Do I need to ask permission first?”   
  
Addison furrows her eyebrows. “You don’t need my permission. I don’t mind going with you, but the first floor is as far as I’ll go. You know the basement creeps me out.”  
  
“Oh. I just assumed Derek…you got the brownstone? And he got the Hamptons? I didn’t ask how the settlement stuff went because I figured you’d tell me if you wanted to talk about it…”  
  
“Mostly uneventful. Stocks, bonds, 401(k)s split down the middle. But the real estate, um…he gave me both,” she meets his eyes with a solemn look.   
  
“He doesn’t know about us.”  
  
“No. I didn’t tell him. I just…couldn’t.”  
  
“You don’t think Derek deserves to know? I know I said it was your choice, and it is, but…now he’s just going to continue to think that I’m just the chump who seduced his wife for the hell of it. I don’t think telling him the truth would make him want to forgive me, but I feel like I owe him that much.”   
  
“So you’ll tell him then, if I won’t?” Addison clenches her jaw in defiance.  
  
“No, of course not. But…don’t you think you should? It’s getting more necessary since he might come out here for Savvy’s surgery…not that I’m going to mount you in front of him, but don’t you think he’ll be able to tell something is up? And don’t you think he’ll look at you and suspect…?” He lowers his voice, though no one is close by. “I mean, you look pregnant.”  
  
Addison scowls at him. “We agreed not to tell anyone until we pass the first trimester. I didn’t realize it’s apparently _so obvious_ that I’m pregnant.”  
  
“That’s not what I mean. You look great. You _do_ have a little baby bump – hey, don’t make that face, I like it – and you’re successfully hiding it with looser-fitting clothes and scrubs, but you’re not going to be able to hide it much longer. But I meant that you look pregnant as a _compliment_. Like, the glow-y thing. You look glow-y and happy.”  
  
“Good save,” she responds with a childish pout.  
  
“Not a save. Just the truth.”  
  
“I still _doubt_ Derek would notice. You remember I slept with you because he was absent and didn’t pay attention to me, right?”  
  
“Addison…”  
  
“Ugh, _fine_. I’ll call him later this week. I know you’re right, Mark. I just…I just don’t _want_ you to be right,” Addison comments, her expression eventually becoming more forgiving. “Sorry. I know I’m being moody. God, what man wouldn’t give anything to be in your shoes right now: your girlfriend is cranky basically all the time and you aren’t even able to touch her boobs.”  
  
Mark chuckles and pushes his lunch tray towards her so she can finish his French fries (a new craving) and an extra pudding cup he snagged (also a new craving, though Addison restrains herself from dipping the fries in the chocolate pudding, which is more than Mark can say for what occurs at home). She smiles thoughtfully at him and does not immediately pull away when his fingers drift over hers. They are not overly affectionate at work, as that has never been their style either as a couple or as individuals while in public, but it is clear to most of the hospital staff that something is going on, even though no one mentions it.   
  
“You’re fine,” Mark tells her. “At least it’s never boring with you.”  
  
\------  
  
“Sorry you can’t drink,” Savvy gives Addison a sympathetic look. She finishes the rest of her cocktail, her first of the night at her self-dubbed “Farewell Reproductive System and Boobs Party” (no one else in the foursome agreed or supported giving a name to tonight’s casual outing for drinks, and no one liked the alternative title “Ovu-Later” any better).   
  
“I am too. So…how’s Weiss holding up?” Addison gestures in the direction of the bar, where the men are getting beers. Savvy’s surgery is scheduled for next Monday.   
  
“He’s coming around. I think it’s nice he has Mark to talk to about some of this stuff, and not just the surgical components. Weiss likes Mark, by the way. He said Mark talked to him about commitment and missing part of me versus missing all of me or something, which can you even _imagine_ Mark saying that a few years ago? Anyway, Weiss and I even started talking about beginning the adoption home study process when I’m feeling a bit better.”  
  
“That’s great, Sav. You know, recovery will be tough, but everything will be okay. And as your doctor, you know I’m one-hundred percent on your side, but as your friend…are you absolutely sure about this?”  
  
Savvy answers the question with a forlorn smile. “I know what I’m losing. I get it. But think about what I’m gaining – my _life_. This gives me a shot. A shot at the future. At a shot at me and Weiss becoming this crazy old wrinkled couple that argues all the time. I mean, wouldn’t you want that? A chance to grow old with – Christ, I can’t believe I’m saying this – a chance to grow old with Mark?” Savvy blinks back tears. “I’m not making an easy choice here, but for me, it is the _right_ choice. Anyway, enough of that. Have you told that dummy that you love him yet?”  
  
Addison glances down at the table. “Not yet,” she says sheepishly.  
  
“Okay, you _know_ I have a legitimate fear about what I’m going to say when I’m stoned out of my mind on pain meds next week. You remember the time I was ‘coming to’ after getting my wisdom teeth pulled and I told the oral surgeon I loved him. Granted, he _was_ attractive and I was a horny nineteen year-old, but _still_. I’m extremely concerned about the likelihood that I tell Mark I love him before you do. And Addison, I swear to God…”  
  
“I remember we googled that guy later. He really was handsome.”  
  
Savvy ignores the stalling attempt. “Why haven’t you told him? Mark’s told you, so it’s not like you have to be afraid of him not saying it back.”  
  
“It’s just that giving my heart to someone is –”  
  
“You’re not _giving_ him anything. You’re opening your heart. He loves you. Let yourself say you love him back. I know you’ve been through a lot the past few months, but I want you to stop being such a chicken shit or I’m seriously going to smack you. Come on. If I can be brave enough to have major, life-altering surgery, you can be brave enough to say three little words.”  
  
“I know. I will soon, Sav. I swear.”  
  
“Good. And thank you for not ovary-acting to the lecture.”  
  
“You need to stop now.”  
  
\------  
  
Addison attempts to call for the third time, knowing it would not be acceptable to leave Derek a voicemail with the news she has been withholding. She also knows if she _doesn’t_ leave a voicemail he will eventually answer or return the missed call, given that he has not been given an update on Savvy’s upcoming procedure. Addison glances longingly towards the bedroom door, hearing faint murmurs from the TV slither through. Mark had retreated to the living room to give her some privacy, but she does notice that the volume is lower than it normally is.   
  
“Addison?” Derek answers on the second ring.  
  
“Hey. Glad I reached you,” she replies, inhaling nervously. Addison proceeds to fill him in on Savvy, thankful she can at least share this information before dropping back-to-back bombs on him.   
  
“Thanks for letting me know,” Derek responds once she has answered a few surgery and recovery-related questions. “I’ll give them a call after this. I don’t think I’ll be able to come, but I’ll check in with them, and I’ll definitely be there for Savvy’s mom if or when…you know.”  
  
“That would mean a lot to them. Derek, I also called because…well, I called because there’s something else I need to talk to you about. I’ve been putting it off, and for that I’m incredibly sorry; I should have told you sooner. It…it wasn’t a one-night stand.”  
  
“What?”  
  
“I’m living with Mark. Derek, I am sorrier than you can possibly imagine. I _swear_ nothing was going on before you walked in on us that night. I never thought about him like that, I swear. And I’m sorry I didn’t tell you while we were going over the divorce stuff. We’ve both had relationships with other people. We’re both equally liable. And I wasn’t honest with you. So please, take the brownstone.”  
  
There is a long pause, and then Derek answers, voice gravelly and low as it reaches her. “I don’t want the brownstone. All I want is Seattle. I want Seattle and I want never –”  
  
“There’s more,” she interrupts hurriedly. “I’m also pregnant. Eleven weeks. I am _so_ sorry to be sharing this with you, Derek. I know this is –”  
  
“You’re serious?”  
  
“Yes. I felt – we felt – you deserved to know. I really am –”  
  
“You’re going to be an _awful_ mother.”  
  
Addison feels her chest tighten at this remark, and she shakes her head, certain she misheard him. “I’m…I’m what?”  
  
“You heard me. You’re going to be an awful mother. And Jesus Christ, Addison. Could you be any more of a whore at this point?”  
  
“Derek, please don’t…”  
  
“And Mark Sloan, a _father_. Good luck with that. Good luck when you come home and find him fucking the nanny, because there is absolutely no way that won’t happen. You know, he’ll probably fuck the whole third floor of Bellevue before the adulterous love child even gets here, now that I think about it.”  
  
“That’s not true. You’re being petty. And mean. I can’t imagine how difficult this is to hear, but –”  
  
“No, you can’t imagine. Any other bombshells? Join a coven? Moonlighting in the underworld, perhaps?”  
  
“No. Just…the living situation and baby,” she finishes lamely.  
  
“Yeah, _just_.”  
  
“I truly am sorry, Derek. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”  
  
“Keep the brownstone, I don’t give a shit. I don’t want to talk to you or see you ever again. I can get post-surgery updates from Savvy or Weiss. Don’t contact me again, Addison.”   
  
And then the call ends.   
  
\------  
  
“He didn’t take it well.” It is a statement, not a question. Mark opens the bedroom door a few minutes after the call has ended since it has become evident that Addison has no immediate plans to leave the room. Although he could not make out most of the exchange, he caught the occasional muted response from Addison, which was enough to confirm it was not a pleasant conversation.   
  
“Actually, the cookie assortment from Levain should be arriving later this week,” she twists around and gives him a cold, glowering look. “How did you _think_ he was going to take the news, Mark? Congratulate us? Send a gift basket? Offer to host the baby shower? Be happy for us?”   
  
“Addison…can I come sit with you?” Mark waits until she nods her consent, and then settles next to her on the edge of the bed.  
  
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to snap at you. It’s not…it’s fine. _I’m_ fine. I’m not going to let him…I’m fine…” she shakes her head a little too frantically and her voice is a little too shuddery to be believable.   
  
All indicators are on display. Even if Mark had not gotten to know her more intimately over the past three months, he would have noticed. Try as she might, and Addison does try so fucking hard, there is nothing subtle about her physical reactions when she is about to cry. The reluctance to make eye contact, one knee bouncing, gnawing hard on the inside of her right cheek (he learned she did this often as an adolescent and it led to mouth sores from time-to-time), and the slight twitch in her shoulders and chest: all definitive “Addison Signs” that she is attempting to ward off tears. The only thing unique this time is that instead of crossing her arms and holding her elbows, her hands are currently resting on her stomach, focused more on protecting her child than herself.  
  
Mark places a hand on her back. “Addison, if you’re _not_ fine though, that’s also okay. You can let it out if you need to. It’s okay, honey.”  
  
She holds on for three more seconds, suspended in futile resistance, and then breaks apart, hard. A splintered, high-pitched sob erupts from the back of her throat.  
  
“Oh Mark,” she chokes out, voice severing. “I don’t…I don’t w-want…”  
  
“Don’t want what?”  
  
“I don’t want to be a bad mom.”  
  
“Wait, what? Hey, hey. Look at me,” Mark cradles his hands around her jawbone, and gently angles her face towards him, prompting her to meet his gaze through watery eyes. “You’re going to be a _great_ mom, Addison. Why would…did Derek tell you that you wouldn’t be?”  
  
“I…” she hiccups as her tears start to weave between Mark’s fingers. “I’m a whore and I’m g-going to be an awful mother.”  
  
“No. No you’re not and no you _won’t_. I’ll kill him,” Mark guides her to his chest as she continues to cry. “Or sic Savvy on him, because she scares the hell out of me,” he adds, and Addison manages to issue a fleeting giggle at this remark.   
  
The tangible actions of comfort – wrapping her in a hug, slowly stroking her hair, helping her thumb away lingering tears – sometimes matter more than words. This is one of those times, and Mark simply lets her cry out the sadness and hurt feelings until she is prepared to talk again.   
  
“I know we broke part of him,” Addison says a few minutes later, voice raspy and eyelashes speared with tears. “What we did was cruel, but I guess I wasn’t expecting him to say what he did. To hate me that much.”  
  
Mark shakes his head sadly in response, chin moving against the top of her head and disrupting the side part in her hair. “I’m so sorry. I knew the news wasn’t going to be well-received, but I didn’t think…I shouldn’t have pushed you to call. I feel horrible.”  
  
“No, don’t feel bad. You were right; he needed to know. It sucked, but it was the right thing to do. It’s okay, Mark, really,” she reaches towards the tissue box on her nightstand to fish out a tissue (and this almost makes her start crying again, just thinking that this is where the tissue box _lives_ now). Addison gently dabs at her face, and then points out a significant wet patch on Mark’s shirt. “I got tears and…God, _snot_ all over you.”  
  
“So will Pickle, so it’s good practice for me. You’re going to be such a great mom though, Addison. And you’re not a whore, okay? I would know since I used to be a manwhore. Game recognizes game or whatever.”  
  
Her shoulders shrug limply. “The first time we slept together though…you could probably make an argument that I was at least a _little_ bit of a whore.”  
  
“I would argue that you messed up. We both did. You’re a good person – a very kind, thoughtful person who had a lapse in judgment when you were lonely. You didn’t do this to hurt him. Addie…can I get you anything? Or do anything for you right now?” Mark watches a smile tempting the corners of her mouth, and knows immediately what it is; he also knows she probably will not ask since it requires a little extra of him. “Do you want a smoothie from the place across the street?”  
  
She smiles her answer. “Just change out of the snot shirt first,” she sits straighter, taking her weight off him. “Thank you, Mark. I swear I’m going to toughen up. I don’t want to be this emotional basket case for the next seven months. It’s burden-ish and pathetic. I’ll special-order a thicker skin or…something.”  
  
“First: you’re not a burden to me. Ever. And second: you _are_ tough. But you’re also dealing with hormones that are basically committing full-scale mutiny, you have a stressful job, your best friend is undergoing major surgery in a few days, and you’re recently divorced and that’s never an easy thing and you just got called some pretty shitty things by the man you divorced, so you’ve gotta cut yourself a little slack. Nothing about you is pathetic. You hear me?” Mark waits until she nods. “Alright, I’m going to put on a clean, non-snot shirt and go get you a smoothie. How about you go hang out on the couch and put on one of those sappy movies you like? I won’t be long.”  
  
\------  
  
Addison wakes up early the next morning, groggy but well-rested. She cannot remember Mark coming home and has no recollection of even making it to the living room. She blinks a few times until a glass of water and a yellow Post-it Note become visible next to “her” tissue box.   
  
_Didn’t want to wake you,_ she reads _. Strawberry banana smoothie in the fridge. Love you, Addie. Pickle and I are lucky to have you._  
  
The doctor in her, the scholar, the pragmatist – these distinct categories she fits into understand the neurochemistry behind love, the production of physical and emotional responses, the areas of the brain that activate. But the part of Addison who sees things just for what they are simply knows that Mark was the last thing she thought about before she fell asleep, and the first thing she thought of this morning. She gives herself to the count of ten (part laziness, part nervousness), and then scoots to Mark’s side of the bed. She leans on her elbow and does another count-off (just to three this time), and then gently rouses him.  
  
“Good morning,” she whispers, lightly tickling his forearm.  
  
“Morning,” he flashes her a sleepy-eyed smile and rolls onto his back. Addison cuddles into his side when he holds an arm out, arranging her head on his chest. “You were out cold when I got back…” there is a long pause when he yawns. “You sleep okay?”  
  
“I did. Hey…Mark? It’s just…it’s about your Post-its. And your smile.”  
  
“What?” Mark asks. She is a little rigid against him, which is never a promising sign, but something feels different this time. Her face is angled away from him and she has a hand clutched to the slope between his neck and shoulder, fiddling with the fabric of his shirt. Mark folds his arms around her but doesn’t do anything else; it feels like she is trying to keep him still and needs him to be a certain way while she speaks.   
  
“Your smile,” Addison continues, drawing in a deep breath. Her words are soft at first, but gradually become clearer, stronger. “Sometimes when you smile at me I can’t function because that face of yours is somehow equal parts angelic and man candy-ish. It’s about how you cuddle with me and rub my back, and when you do, I don’t think I’ve ever felt so safe or cared for before. It’s about how you can be so, _so_ narcissistic and arrogant, but you let me see your sweet side and you’re incredibly selfless when it comes to me. And I know it’s not just about sex, but my _God_ the sex is amazing. It’s about you being patient with me when I wasn’t all the way ‘in’ and being supportive – not just as a boyfriend, but as a friend – when I was grieving the collapse of my marriage. It’s about you knowing exactly how to comfort me. It’s about the Yankees shirt of yours that now belongs to me. It’s about you calling me ‘honey’ sometimes. It’s about you wanting to be a dad and giving our baby the cutest and weirdest nickname. It’s about the onesie and calendar. You just…Mark, you told me before I went to Seattle what this is about for you, and this – being with you – this is what it’s about for me. Because this matters. _We_ matter. And I…I love you. I love you.”  
  
Mark nudges her and rolls them over until they are face-to-face, wrapped in each other’s arms. Her lips curl up in a shy smile when she looks at him.   
  
“I love you too, Addison,” he says back, reaching out to push a wispy spiral of hair back behind her ear. His knuckles linger against her skin.   
  
“Good,” she replies, letting out a nervous giggle. Mark leans forward to kiss her forehead. Her body feels more relaxed now. “You know, if I was feeling better,” she adds with a restrained grin, “this would be the part where we have really, really good sex. But right now I’ve got about a ten-minute window before I might need to go throw up.”  
  
“I know. It’s okay.” He cuddles her a little closer.   
  
“By the way, I keep forgetting to mention this: don’t tell Savvy I told you, but when you’re checking on her after surgery she might tell you she loves you. It’s kind of a _thing_ with her when she’s been under anesthesia.”  
  
Mark laughs. “She actually wouldn’t be the first patient to tell me that.”  
  
“Somehow that doesn’t surprise me.” 


	11. Everything Now

**Chapter 11. Everything Now**  
  
“Is it tomorrow?”  
  
Addison works to conceal a look that is equal parts amusement and compassion. She turns away from the empty stretch of waterfront greenway and the murky, current-heavy East River she has been observing while her friend drifts in and out of a foggy sleep.  
  
“It’s today,” she walks back over to Savvy’s bed and positions a previously-poured cup of water near her friend’s mouth, shaking her head when Savvy attempts to take it. “I’ve got it; try to keep your arms by your sides until that cute Plastic Surgeon tells you otherwise. T-Rex arms, alright? And it’s half past seven, if you were wondering.”  
  
“It’s today,” Savvy repeats, blinking away some of the medication-induced fatigue. She drinks from the cup being coaxed between her lips, arching her head back when she has drained its contents. She wipes at the corner of her mouth, despite Addison’s noise of protest at the non-dinosaur movement. “Beer me again.”  
  
“Now that’s the Savvy I know and love,” Addison refills the cup from the nearby pitcher. “You’ve been sleeping on and off all afternoon. Everything went really well, Sav.”  
  
Savvy’s lips twist to the side and her right eye squints as she gives this some consideration. “We already had this conversation, didn’t we?”  
  
“More than once.”   
  
“Did I say anything…?”  
  
Addison starts to say _no_ , but decides her friend could probably use a laugh after a long morning on the operating table. “You’re leaving Weiss and marrying me. Your true love.”  
  
“Good. I love you more than I love him anyway. Boys are the worst. Is it still a shotgun wedding if I’m not the one who knocked you up?” Savvy shakes her head to indicate she doesn’t need another refill when Addison reaches for the pitcher again. “I’m sore, like, _everywhere_ ,” she admits with a feeble swallow before the shotgun query can be given much thought. A grimace of discomfort carries across her face at this statement.   
  
“I know. We can give you some more of the good stuff in about an hour.”   
  
“Where’s Weiss?”  
  
“He ran home to get some more things for you and check in with your mom. You said goodbye before he left. This is the first time all day he’s left the hospital, and of course your selfish ass would choose this moment to be more coherent. Don’t worry though, I’m staying until he gets back.”   
  
“Addie? Addie…do I still look like…me?” Savvy’s eyes start to shimmer with wetness.   
  
“You mean do you still look beautiful and strong and have a gorgeous head of hair that is unfairly shiny? Yes, yes you do,” Addison hands Savvy a tissue from the box on the tray table. “You’re still _you_ , Sav.”  
  
“Sorry,” she whispers when tears start to fall.  
  
“Don’t be. You’re talking to someone who almost cried last night because the _banana_ I peeled was mushier than I thought it was going to be. You can cry as much as you need to. It’s okay if – oh, hey…” Addison gets distracted when she sees Mark become visible in the doorway. He says hello, and offers to come back later, but Addison juts her chin in Savvy’s direction. “Stay. Can you come in here for a sec and tell my best friend how beautiful she still is?”   
  
“Banana Snob is right. You’re beautiful,” Mark confirms as he enters the room, going to the side of the bed opposite Addison. “And I’m saying that _despite_ being offended that at no point while you were in the recovery room did you tell me I was attractive. I had it on good authority you would.”   
  
“Will I…will we…?” Savvy shakes her head at him, unsure. “I asked before, but I need to hear it again. Weiss and I have always been compatible _physically_. Will we still have that?”  
  
Mark offers a reassuring smile as Savvy’s lower lip starts to quiver. “Yeah. You will. The way he felt about you prior to surgery hasn’t changed. You’ll have sex again. Good sex.”   
  
Nothing about her question surprises Mark because of the circumstances surrounding the procedure, but also because his specialty isn’t _always_ as shallow as people think (Addison included); it’s not cosmetic every time, not just the frivolous manipulation of tissues with instruments, especially not when you’re the go-to Plastics guy on the East Coast. Savvy’s concern is a typical one, and it doesn’t matter how often and how detailed Mark is when he discusses the concerns and the what-to-expect information with a patient and the patient’s partner prior to surgery. The loss of sensation following a double mastectomy and reconstruction is inevitable. Savvy will not recover full feeling. Some feeling of minor significance may _eventually_ return, but Mark has also had patients whose numbness has persisted even years later.   
  
“You’ll find ways to make it feel good for both of you,” he adds. “But before you get to that part, he’ll physically care for you and do whatever he can to help you feel okay. You’d be surprised at how many partners help with the drain management part without batting an eyelash; I’m sure Weiss won’t be an exception. He didn’t marry you for your breasts, you know. He might have loved them, but they were never the _reason_ he loved you.”  
  
“They were just a nice perk, right?” Savvy switches her gaze to Addison, and then back to Mark, just to make sure the joke landed.  
  
“You’re funny,” Mark acknowledges while his girlfriend laughs.  
  
“But will they…?” Savvy glances down at her bandaged chest, the netted fabric of the wound dressings visible beneath her loose-fitting gown. “They don’t feel…will they ever feel like _mine_? Like they belong to me?”  
  
Mark hesitates for a second, not because he doesn’t know the answer, but because Addison has just pulled in a very long, unsettled breath (not noticed by her friend, thankfully) to stay in control of her emotions.  
  
“They will,” he tells Savvy. “The grief you’re feeling is normal. It’s okay to miss your old ones and it’s okay that the new ones don’t feel like they belong to you yet. I’m telling you this because I’ve been doing this long enough to know it’s true, but we’ll also get you a referral to a therapist and give you some support group info before you’re discharged; you’re going to need support from as many people as possible, not just loved ones. You lost pieces of yourself this morning, Savvy. But breasts – real, implants, reconstructed, cut off, whatever – they don’t define you or make you whole. You’re not any less of a woman for going through with this…and the reconstruction went great, by the way. You’ll see, once you’re healed up a bit.”   
  
Savvy’s expression remains a little delicate. “You’re not just saying that because any rack is great since your girlfriend won’t let you near hers right now?”  
  
“I’m not. I promise.”   
  
“He does a nice job with the well-meaning speeches,” Savvy says softly, directing this remark to Addison, who has managed to blink away all traces of unshed moisture. “No wonder you got pregnant so quickly.”  
  
“Yes. Mark is right about everything he said to you, and he _does_ usually do well with speeches,” Addison admits, and then offers an impish grin. “Neither of us tends to beat around the bush with you.”   
  
“Was that…did you just make a joke about my girl parts to make me feel better?”  
  
“I did. What do you think?”  
  
“I love it. But I would still keep your day job.”   
  
\------  
  
An appreciative hum fills the back of Addison’s throat when his tongue sweeps over water droplets clinging to her jawline and neck. Sex in the shower doesn’t have the same structure as the bedroom (or any other flat surface, for that matter), but there are still some consistencies for them: fingers that are ticklish-light when they first brush against skin, before each touch becomes more insistent, needier; the initial sharp intake of air when a hand slides where their bodies meet; hips moving in sync; and the hurried kisses and breathlessness near the end when they’re both close.   
  
Addison’s back is cool and slick against the veined marble wall tiles, and she tenses her legs around Mark’s waist, pulling him closer as he thrusts upward, knowing that neither is going to last much longer. She collapses forward against his shoulder, her moans echoing into his damp skin as she shudders around him and feels him join her moments later.  
  
Mark lets her down carefully afterwards, hands still tracing attentively over her hipbones. She makes another happy noise against his mouth when he kisses her, and he holds her steady until her legs feel less trembly (admittedly, his are still a little weak as well). This encounter had been a surprise, though a welcome one. Mark expected to find Addison peacefully sleeping after he got out of the bathroom, but instead she followed him into the walk-in shower with a desirous look in her hazy eyes that indicated she had other things in mind and no intention of going all that fast (although the shower walls are sufficient for steamy activities and he’s more than strong enough to support her in his arms, the built-in bench on the adjacent wall and the available bath mat secured by suction cups are always appreciated).   
  
“Did my well-meaning speech today do something for you?” Mark grins, mostly teasing Addison as she steps beneath the water to clean herself off. She shifts to the side so he can join her under the hot spray.   
  
“No. I just…wanted you,” Addison replies, leaning up to kiss the corner of his mouth. She squirms a little afterwards, toes flexing against the tiles. It’s not voiced in a way that invokes embarrassment or shyness; that’s not really her. Mark is not sure what she was like with Derek (nor does he want to think about it), but the verbal communication part of the _before_ and _during_ of intimacy doesn’t seem to be her style, or at least not with him. Mark assumes she is either undemanding (not likely) in bed as far as directives go, or just doesn’t feel comfortable saying what she wants and how she wants it (more likely). It’s just something he thinks about from time to time, even though it never affects their experience (and he know it’s a weird thing to fixate on, but then, everything sex-related is something he has been fixated on since age fourteen or so).   
  
Verbalizations notwithstanding, Addison does make her desires known through her physical actions and fiery looks: what she wants, what she wants from him, and what she wants to do to him. It’s the coy slash of her mouth, the talented hands that stroke him hard, fingernails that alternate between being delicate and scratch-heavy, legs that wrap tighter when she wants to pull him in deeper, and the high-pitched (but genuine, because he can tell) “ohs” and “mmms” that start forming when she gets closer to climaxing. And even if Addison _wasn’t_ capable of putting his hands where she wants them, he always has a good idea and her body language does a sufficient job of confirming that his ideas are in fact good.   
  
Mark busies himself with wrapping a towel around his waist once they’ve gotten out of the shower, but glances up to witness Addison staring at herself in the mirror. Her hair hangs in thick, wet ropes that are dripping onto the floor as one of her hands cups a towel-covered breast. It had surprised him but also _not_ surprised him that at one point during their encounter she had guided his palms to her chest and pushed towards him in encouragement, a direct contradiction to the past few weeks of unending tenderness.   
  
“You okay?”  
  
She jumps a little at Mark’s voice fracturing into her thoughts. “Yeah, just…” she shakes her head, moving her hand to adjust the towel tighter under her armpit, as though that was her intention all along. “Just drying off.”   
  
“And feeling where you’re feeling because your friend can’t?” He watches Addison lower her head, and it takes her a few seconds to respond.   
  
“I don’t know,” she admits, voice threatening to crack.   
  
“She’s your best friend, Addison. It’s okay to be sad for her and what she’s lost. Today wasn’t an easy day for any of us, most of all Sav. But she’ll be okay. They both will. Now,” he presses a kiss to her forehead, holding the kiss until he hears her breathe out a more relaxed sigh. “You finish up in here, steal another shirt of mine, and then come get in bed with me so I can rub your back.”  
  
\------  
  
“What time do you think they’ll discharge me tomorrow?”  
  
“Whatever time you want. I can pull some strings. I’m kind of a big deal here.”   
  
Savvy grins at this response. “Not that I have any significant plans for the weekend or foreseeable future…I’m just going to be spending a lot of time with my mom since she’s going to stay with us for a while. I’m glad we’ll have this time together though, especially since…well, never mind. She was initially against me having the surgery, but came around to it. She gets it. Not sure how she’s going to feel once we're fighting over the remote everyday though…”  
  
“I’ll come visit you guys all the time too. But for now, as much as I would love to stay, I need to check in with another patient before I head out.”  
  
“You’re cheating on me?” Savvy asks, and then purses her lips together, expression flaming with guilt. “Oh, sorry. Are we…not there yet?”  
  
Addison laughs. “You get a pass since you’re still recovering. Now get some sleep. You need your rest.”  
  
“You should get some sleep too. I know I’m one to talk given that I’m on the mend from major surgery, but you look…not great.”  
  
“This? This is why we aren’t exclusive, Savannah.”   
  
“I just mean you look exhausted. Make sure _you_ get some rest, too.”   
  
\------  
  
“Mark. Mark.” Addison’s voice works its way into his sleep on Friday morning. There is a shrill desperation in her pitch, but it still takes him a few seconds to jar himself into a more established state of consciousness. “ _Mark_.”  
  
“Sorry, sorry — I’m up,” he reaches a hand out toward her. She is facing away from him, knees drawn up to her chest, trying to ward off the queasiness in her stomach. “What’s wrong? Are you -”  
  
“Get the trash can,” she chokes out when something shifts violently inside her and she knows that her opportunity to get up and move has passed. “I need…I don’t think I can make it.”  
  
Mark quickly climbs out from under the blanket and runs to the bathroom, having the cognizance to side-step a pair of abandoned Jimmy Choo suede pumps from earlier in the week (Addison is a freakishly neat person, and although her shoes _eventually_ make their way back to the expansive shoe rack in their shared walk-in, they tend to accumulate all throughout the apartment first).   
  
Addison is dry heaving by the time he’s reached the bathroom, but she is able to fight off expelling the contents of her stomach until Mark has angled the wastebasket under her chin. He sits next to her, helping guide her to the right position without forcing her to have to move or exert herself too much. He feels grateful that she makes the wise decision most nights to gather her hair into a ponytail or messy bun, which for this instance makes it a lot easier to hold the wastebasket with one hand and rub her back with the other, without the added complication of negotiating her hair to keep it out of her face.   
  
“Sorry,” Addison gasps out between harsh ejections and groans of discontent. Her face is pale and her skin is dotted with beads of cold sweat that are settling into the wisps of hair near her ears. Mark grabs a tissue from the nightstand and dabs at the sweat.   
  
“It’s okay. It’s gross, I’m not gonna lie…but it’s okay,” he says with humor, and she manages to produce some sort of giggle at this remark when there is a lull in bouts of sickness.   
  
“Done,” she mutters a few minutes later, adjusting shakily on the mattress to return her head to the pillow.   
  
“You sure?” He asks, and she gives a tiny nod. They both glance at the bedside clock, individually calculating how much more time they have before they need to start getting ready for work (plenty, luckily).   
  
Mark sets the trash can on the floor as far away from him as he can without having to get off the bed, deciding he will deal with it in a few minutes, and that he’d rather have it close by in case Addison doesn’t end up being done. He turns back to her and sighs in sympathy when he sees fresh tears beginning to skate down her cheeks.   
  
“Addison…hey. I know this isn’t easy,” he rubs her shoulder when a sad moan bubbles out of her. Mark lets her cry for a bit, just whispering reminders that it’s going to get better soon (everything he’s read so far indicates that her nausea should lessen in the second trimester) and that he’s sorry she’s going through this and that he loves her. Addison offers him jerky little nods here and there, enough to convey she’s hearing him, but when it’s been several minutes and there doesn’t seem to be any indicator she’s going to stop crying, Mark knows he has to make another suggestion, one she will detest.   
  
“How about you stay home today and start your weekend early?” He asks, and although she is sobbing too much to form coherent words, it is not lost on him that she does not support this proposal at all. “I know, I know,” Mark continues. “You’re your own boss and you hate when I tell you what to do. What about if you go in late this morning instead? Or maybe just do a half day?”  
  
“I can’t s-stop crying,” she weeps in frustration.   
  
“You can. You’re just not ready to yet. And you’re tired, Addison. It’s okay to admit that.”   
  
Addison shakes her head at this. “N-no. Overwhelmed,” she hiccups. There is no explanation attached to this or anything else of substance, but he thinks he understands.  
  
“Okay,” Mark says, pondering his next move. He figures that with all this harsh crying if she needed to throw up again it would have happened by now, so it’s probably safe to change positions. He crawls behind her and cuddles her back into his chest. He rubs a hand against her lower stomach and when he does, one of her hands joins his.  
  
“We need to get out of here,” Mark murmurs when she’s settled down. “Like a trip or something. There’s been a lot going on, you know? Sav’s surgery, the divorce, the lightning-speed with which things happened between us. Let’s slow down for a minute. What if we take a few days off and go somewhere?”  
  
“I want to go to work today though.”  
  
“Okay, so we’ll take a few days off _next_ week.”   
  
Addison rubs at her eyes with her free hand. “Where would we go?”  
  
“What about Cape Cod?”  
  
“Since when do you vacation in Cape Cod?”  
  
“I don’t,” he says. “But my tennis partner and his wife have a place there, right on the waterfront. He said they don’t go up there as much now that their sons are older, so to just let him know what dates we’d want to go and he can have the cleaning service go out there in advance and get it ready. Given all the help I’ve given him with his net game, he probably wouldn’t care about this being short notice. I figured I’d ask you at some point anyway if you wanted to go, but I think ‘some point’ needs to be now.”  
  
“That sounds really nice,” Addison admits. “Just us.”  
  
“Just us,” he repeats.  
  
“And Pickle,” she whispers. She glances down to where their hands are joined, feeling a pang of guilt. It occurs to Addison that although she loves her unborn child, the onslaught of stress and anxiety are beginning to weigh heavier on her than feelings of utter joy. She knows her nausea is pregnancy-induced, but feeling this tense all the time is definitely not helping. She swallows another lump filling her throat. “I know I’ll be a good mom, but sometimes it feels like I could be a better _pregnant_ mom. Everything is so go-go-go and it’s like I hardly spend any time doing the bonding thing, even though Pickle is with me wherever I go. I should be touching my stomach more. I should be talking to the baby more. I should be buying baby-related things. I should remember to schedule prenatal appointments without Maggie sending me reminder texts. I should be looking into childbirth classes, even though realistically I’ll never go, but I should still at least embrace the courtesy of looking. But instead I’m operating on friends and getting on airplanes and signing divorce papers — and obviously I don’t _regret_ those things, but…”  
  
“It’s been a lot for you. All the more reason to take a few days off to relax, right?”  
  
“Okay. Let’s go to Cape Cod.”  
  
“Good. It’ll be fun, Ad. I’ll get in touch with Russell this morning. Now are you _sure_ you want to go to work today?”  
  
“Yes. Don’t argue with me. You won’t win.”  
  
“I never expect to.”


	12. All That Ever Mattered

**Chapter 12. All That Ever Mattered**  
  
Addison flits around the kitchen early Sunday morning, packing just enough food and drinks to prevent them from needing to make an immediate grocery store run when they get to Cape Cod this afternoon. She hears the scrape of the key in the lock, signaling Mark’s return from the hospital, but stops herself from calling out a hello when she can hear that he is on the phone.  
  
“Hey,” Mark enters the kitchen a few moments later, tossing his keys on the table. “That was Russell. The housekeeper left a spare key for us under one of the pillows on the porch swing bed.”  
  
Addison’s eyes light up at this. “There’s a porch swing _bed_? Well, I know where I’ll be spending all my time the next few days then. It’s so nice of him though, to let us have the place with just two days’ notice.”  
  
“He probably wouldn’t have cared either way, but playing the sympathy card always helps. I told him my pregnant girlfriend has been feeling a bit down lately, so we could really use a vacation.”  
  
“ _God_ , Mark. I’m not having a full-on Cuckoo’s Nest moment, you know.”  
  
“I know, but I wasn’t sure how he’d feel about me going after his subpar net game as a guilt tactic, so I opted not to throw him under the bus.”  
  
“Just the mother of your child then, hmm?” Addison teases, looping her arms behind his neck.   
  
He grins back, circling his arms around her waist and kissing her lightly. “Hey now, the father of your child was kind enough to take a weekend appointment with a patient. Most surgeons wouldn’t,” he says, referring to Savvy’s first post-op appointment, which was handled this morning so Mark wouldn’t have to pawn her off on another doctor in the interim while he and Addison are out of town.  
  
“And I _did_ say thank you for that.”   
  
“I know, I was just kidding. Plus it was no problem.”  
  
“Anything for boobs, right?”  
  
“When they’re attached to your best friend, yes. Everything looked good though. I removed the bandages and -”  
  
“I know, she already texted me.”  
  
“You two really are joined at the hip. Although you failed to mention something interesting that happened before Savvy was wheeled down to pre-op. She told me there were some special photos taken?”  
  
“You’ll see them on this year’s holiday card, knowing her.”  
  
“I was actually just curious if the roles switched at any point and _you_ were the one posing for the camera.”  
  
Addison laughs and disengages herself from his embrace to finish stuffing items into a cooler of Mark’s that has seen better days. “Nope, sorry to disappoint you. By the way, you probably didn’t have a chance, but while you were there -”  
  
“Nathan? Yeah, I checked.”  
  
“How did you know that’s what I was going to ask?” She glances back over her shoulder with a pleased smile.  
  
“I know things, and I know you, Addison. The on-call doctor said there hasn’t been a significant change since you were last there, but Nate’s holding steady. The blood vessel dilator seems to be helping.”  
  
“Yeah. Poor buddy can’t catch a break. Just a few days ago we were prepping to take him off the ventilator, too. Anyway. I appreciate you being my errand boy this morning. And yes, before you hint at anything, I’ll reward you for it later,” Addison blows a kiss to him. She starts to laugh when Mark’s eyebrows hike up in surprise. She chooses to mimic him, her tone playful and happy. “I _know_ things, and I know _you_ , Mark.”  
  
\------  
  
Addison munches contentedly on a peanut butter and honey sandwich as they zip along I-195. She wanted to wait until they arrived to break into the food, but they have a little over an hour to go before they reach their destination and since her nausea has been nonexistent today, her hunger has been insatiable. Waiting is no longer an option.  
  
“Do you want anything?” She asks Mark, gesturing to the cooler tucked near her feet.  
  
“No, I’m okay,” he answers. “I can wait until we get there. I’m glad you brought stuff, but I need to know before I look in there: are there any things you brought that have no business being on a sandwich?”  
  
“The spaghetti breakfast Buddy made in _Elf_ really freaked you out, didn’t it? I didn’t actually _make_ it, Mark.”  
  
“But Addison, you _thought_ about making it. Somehow that’s almost as bad, especially because of how alarmingly into detail you went about the ideal ratio of maple syrup to marshmallows. But hey, I’ll make it for you if it turns out that’s really what you want.”  
  
“You’d do that for me?”  
  
“I would, you cotton-headed ninny muggins,” he quotes, making her giggle.  
  
\------  
  
“Hey, Addie?” Mark asks later when they have transitioned on to the Mid-Cape Highway. He draws in an uncertain breath. “Should I…propose to you?”  
  
Addison’s head snaps towards him so quickly that a lock of hair nearly gets caught between her lips. She pushes her Gucci sunglasses up to study him closer. “Wait…are you asking if you should or is this you _actually_ proposing?”  
  
“ _If_ I should,” he clarifies, fighting back a smirk at the expression of vague horror on her face. “You make me a sappy guy sometimes. You really think _this_ is how I would propose? But no, I’m just asking because of the baby. Like, if it bothers you that Baby Montgomery-Sloan isn’t going to have married parents or anything…”  
  
“It doesn’t bother me,” she replies honestly. “Does it bother you?”  
  
“No, not at all. I just wanted to make sure we were on the same non-married page, that’s all.”  
  
Addison smiles contemplatively. “My mother will hate it, which actually makes me like it more. And just Sloan, by the way. Not Montgomery-Sloan.”  
  
“Really?”  
  
“I like my name, but Addison Forbes Montgomery was always exhausting to write out in grade school. And I assume I’m right in thinking that we plan to make this relationship stick?”  
  
“That’s definitely the plan.”  
  
“But if you were going to propose one day…it wouldn’t happen in the car, right? Like, it would be better than this? Like, a _lot_ better?”  
  
Mark chuckles. “I promise this would not be how I propose.”  
  
\------  
  
Addison glances back at their home for the next week, a stunning colonial-style house with shake siding that looks mildly subdued against the bright white of the window trimmings and porch railings. It truly is _dreamy_ , and she lets out a happy sigh before answering Mark’s inquiry about what she thinks of the place.  
  
“It’s perfect. I know you didn’t get to explore much of it yet, but the inside was just as nice…which I would know since that’s where I was _banished_ while you set things up.”   
  
They agreed when they arrived that the first thing they wanted to do was sit by the water. However, before they could walk down to the stretch of beach only accessible to them and a few neighboring homes, Mark started jabbering about something he read about skin being more sensitive to the sun during pregnancy and something about folic acid. Addison waved him off with an annoyed-but-mostly-tolerant roll of her eyes, and proceeded to wander through the home’s stunning interior while Mark picked a spot to lay out their beach stuff and set up a pop-up cabana the Tennises (Addison keeps meaning to ask what their last name is, and what the wife’s name is) had left on the porch over the summer.   
  
“I _was_ concerned about the skin stuff, but I’m actually glad I banished you because putting up the cabana was harder than I thought it was going to be, which wasn’t great for my ego,” Mark says while unwrapping his foil-covered sandwich. “Hey, Addison…” he flips the bread open, showing her its contents and hitting her with a sly grin. “Want my pickle?”  
  
“Okay, you absolutely _cannot_ say that since that’s our child’s current _name_ , Mark.”   
  
“Fine. No pickle for you,” he quips. “That’s the last time I’ll say it in that context though, I promise.”  
  
“Good. Not to encourage you, but there are tons of other phallic-shaped foods you can reference instead,” Addison replies, and then goes back to fiddling with the material of her black cover-up. “Now that your sandwich question has been addressed, I really want to take my cover-up off,” she adds softly.  
  
“And do you need…assistance with this task?”  
  
“No. It’s just me being me. Or being ‘pregnant me,’ really. It’s not always easy dating a Plastic Surgeon,” she admits with a rueful look, waving towards Mark’s broad shoulders and chest, and the carved muscles lining his abdomen. “And someone who looks like you shirtless, honestly.”  
  
Mark shakes his head and tugs on one of the draped sleeves of her cover-up. “Take the dress thing off. You look great, Addison.”  
  
She offers a hesitant smile and after a bit more coaxing pulls the garment over her head to reveal a dark green one-piece with a halter neckline and delicate side ruching. She sets a hand against the gentle slope in her stomach.  
  
“Yeah? She asks, trying not to feel insecure.  
  
“Yeah. Definitely yeah. An unnamed phallic food item is trying not to be too excited about your look. I swear I’d take you right here if you wanted me to.”   
  
“Not _here_. Too much sand -”  
  
“In places that would be better served by my tongue?”  
  
“I swear I’m just going to start _ignoring_ your sleazy comments. But thank you for the compliment. You’ll still feel this way though when I’m at the tail end of the pregnancy and waddling around? And after I give birth, when sex is on hold? That tongue you’re so proud of is going to go through quite a period of dormancy once the baby comes.”  
  
“I’ll be fine.”  
  
“You say that now…”  
  
“Your attempts at scaring me off are never going to work, you know.”  
  
\------  
  
Addison tries not to close her eyes near the end, but cannot always help it; it feels somewhat natural, and there is also something to be said about the heightened physical sensations. She is fully engaged regardless, but it’s just exquisite to let her eyes slip closed in a flutter of lashes and feel Mark’s lips brush over her eyelids – or wherever else they land on her face and neck when they’re both reaching the end and it’s all just frenzied breathlessness – right before her muscles contract and she starts to thrash. (In contrast, Mark’s eyes are almost _always_ open. At first this made Addison vaguely self-conscious, the idea that he enjoys watching her in the throes of an orgasm so much, but eventually she stopped caring because it is clear it turns him on and who is she to deny him such a pleasure?)  
  
“Oh, Mark…” a sound rises from her lips that is somehow a purr and a moan and a whisper all at once when Mark slides a hand between their thrusting bodies, fingers circling against her. She moans louder and rocks her hips, changing their angle as she strains towards him. The sex is still varied and always phenomenal, but it is a bit slower now, more tender. The connection feels deeper to her, somehow. They keep their eyes on one another this time, intensity and intimacy colliding as they orgasm together.  
  
“That was amazing,” Addison says afterwards when they are both able to breathe properly again.  
  
“Mmm,” he murmurs in agreement against her lips while they trade slow, lusty kisses. “Yeah, it was.”  
  
“I’m glad it was good for you,” she tosses him a mischievous smile. “Your window for being on top is closing, you know.”  
  
“Because you being on top or embracing more creative positions, not that we don’t already do both of those anyway, is a total hardship for me? Trust me, I’ll still really, really enjoy it.”  
  
“Yeah?” Addison asks in a breathy voice to keep the sexual ambiance going, not because she really suspects otherwise.   
  
“I can list all the things that make sex with you enjoyable, but I know it’s not your favorite thing when I get graphic.”  
  
“It’s really not. It’s just -”  
  
“Your weird ‘I’m from Connecticut’ thing that I still don’t understand?” Mark grins and taps her on the nose. “Yeah, I know.”  
  
\------  
  
Addison scratches her thumbnail against the textblock of a book of baby names, making the pages rustle. She has made some progress with dog-earring certain pages and circling some of the names she likes (she feels that boy names are so much harder), but she is mostly too caught up in enjoying this morning’s view to do much searching for the perfect name. Light rain has been descending over the coastal landscape for the past hour, droplets funneling through ocean waves and casting blemishes in the sand. She basks in the peacefulness of the moment, enjoying this quiet bonding time with the baby.   
  
“Aren’t you supposed to sleep in when you’re on vacation?” Mark asks later when he finds her on the porch. She smiles in response, setting the book down and patting the mattress, motioning for him to join her.  
  
“I’m sure I’ll take a nap at some point today. Plus, I told you: this is where I live now,” she makes a vague gesture with her hand to indicate the rope-suspended porch swing they are situated lengthwise on. She knows the scheme of the throw pillows around them – half navy blue and white striped, the other half embroidered with a coral reef design – is the predictable choice for a beachfront home, but she loves the sense of comfort and familiarity that exudes from the scene anyway. And when Mark wraps an arm around her and she cuddles into his shoulder, she thinks that the same sense of comfort and familiarity applies to them as well.  
  
“Hope you didn’t have any plans to lay on the beach today,” he murmurs, rubbing a hand against her stomach.   
  
“I don’t mind. This is kind of nice, actually. I love it here. Do you think the Tennises would let us come more often?” Addison asks, not having to look to know Mark smiled at this comment. She is now aware that the last name is Cabot and the wife is Jen, but they will forever be known as the Tennises, and Mark and Addison will remain the only ones to ever find this joke funny.  
  
“Yeah, I’m sure they would. Maybe we should just move here though. You can walk me through delivering Pickle.”  
  
“No. You will be standing by my _shoulder_ while _Maggie_ is handling the delivery.”  
  
“Fair enough. And how is Pickle this morning?”  
  
“Pickle is doing great. We need to do this more when we’re back in Manhattan on a non-porch bed and real life resumes,” Addison places her hand next to his. “Spend more time like _this_ with her, I mean. Him or her.”   
  
“You said her.”   
  
“And then I said him. Him or her.”  
  
“But there was a noticeable pause,” Mark’s lips tease up in a slow, excited smile and he glances down at Addison. “Do you think Pickle is a girl, Addie?”  
  
She meets his smile with one of her own. “Yeah, I do,” she answers. “I’d be happy with either, but I just feel like…I feel like it’s a girl. I try to be good about not thinking or saying ‘her’ though. I don’t want to hurt Pickle’s feelings if he’s actually a boy – we have another six or seven weeks before we know for sure. Mark, would you be happy with either?”  
  
“Yeah, of course. But if it’s a girl, I’m already used to being bossed around by one woman, so what’s one more?”  
  
\------  
  
It rains consistently throughout the day, but not much more than a cool, acceptable drizzle that collects on windowpanes. There is a break around nine, but the hush in the air is disrupted about an hour later when the rain picks back up, this time harder, carrying with it thunder that broods wildly across the night-sky.   
  
Mark wanders back into the living room after loading the dishwasher, and his heart sinks a little when he spots Addison by the front door, which she must have opened to get a better view of the current elements whirling around the property. She is standing near the threshold – not quite on it, but close enough – in a long-sleeved, pale pink pajama set, and her figure is briefly illuminated when a flash of lightning cleaves through the darkness.   
  
“Hey,” he says, making his presence known before his arms surround her waist. Addison leans back in his embrace, but remains tense. “You okay?”   
  
She nods timidly. “Yeah. Just, you know. Stormy weather. Nighttime. Not my favorite combination anymore. But it’s weather. Just _weather_. It’s like a white noise machine, just without the option to turn the app off. And to think at one point you were worried I wanted to stay in Seattle, where it rains twenty-four seven,” she tacks on, mostly for the sake of banter.   
  
“You’re safe, Addison. You’re never going to get shut outside again. And I won’t let anything bad happen to you. I promise.”  
  
“I know,” she exhales slowly, but it doesn’t really release any of the acute stress that has been pulsing through her for the past few minutes. She feels embarrassed because she knows Mark knows she isn’t entirely okay, despite her attempts to reassure him. “We can go to bed, if you want. It might – it might take me a little while to fall asleep, but I’ll get there. I’ll be fine.”  
  
Mark turns her around in his arms. “What if we stay out here? You can shoot this down – or yell at me if this is a really stupid idea – but what if we stay here for a bit until you start to feel more tired?” He draws a hand towards the porch swing. “We can just do what we were doing this morning. And there’s tons of blankets in the storage basket over there, so we’ll be warm.”   
  
She presses her lips together. “Are you trying to do exposure therapy on me?”  
  
“No. I’m not trying to come up with a treatment plan or anything. I was just thinking we could do this together. I want you to be okay, that’s all. Again, you can shoot it down or yell.”  
  
“I’m not going to yell. Let’s give it a try,” Addison offers a light shrug. She feels a strange pull to do this with him, or at least doesn’t really feel a huge pull to retreat into the house. She takes Mark’s hand, and motions for him to go first. “I’ll humor you.”  
  
\------  
  
It ends up being better than she could have imagined. Relaxation does not happen right away, not even close, but Addison is warm from a combination of the pile of blankets and being wrapped tightly in Mark’s arms. From her vantage point while resting her head on his chest, she can just make out the inky waves crashing and bubbling against the shoreline. In an attempt to remain calm, she concentrates on some of the basic senses enveloping her: the earthy smell of rain permeating the air; the sound of wind-driven droplets that drum on the roof above them, and the feel of Mark’s comforting hands – one stroking her back, and the other gripping her elbow. She can tell he’s listening carefully and feeling for any signs from her that are indicative of distress, but eventually Addison feels her heart rate slow, and the undefined but impending sense of danger grappling through her mind begins to float away.   
  
“Hey,” Mark says after a few minutes, voice a little louder to cut over the storm. “You’re a really, really strong person, Ad. And I’m proud of you for trying this. But if it’s too much, just tell me.”  
  
She shakes her head slowly against his shoulder as a smile blooms across her face. “No, it’s okay. I feel safe with you. I feel _good_ ,” she leans up, disrupting their embrace in order to kiss him. There is a bit of laughter and shuffling around that follows in order to find a position more conducive to making out and touching each other, but also one that ensures maximum laziness potential, but eventually they find an ideal setup. Addison pulls back first, running her fingertips along his jawbone.  
  
“And I’m just…happy,” she adds. “Ridiculously, stupidly happy. Even though the past few months have been insane and this is never where I thought I would end up and I didn’t want it to happen how it initially happened, I don’t think I’ve ever been this happy before.”  
  
“Same here,” Mark murmurs, caressing her hipbones and thighs as they exchange another long, deep kiss.   
  
“Have you ever been in love before?” Addison asks after another few minutes of embracing, genuinely curious. It surprises her how much she wants to _know_ Mark, every part of him. And she likes that he doesn’t really think twice about answering any of her out-of-left-field queries.   
  
Mark nods. “Yes and no.”  
  
“Explain please.”  
  
“I mean, I’ve been in love before, once with my college girlfriend sophomore year and once in my mid-twenties, I think, but nothing like this. This is different. _You’re_ different. It’s beyond logic, but sometimes it’s hard to remember in complete detail what life was like before you. Before you and Pickle. There were a lot of women, which you know, obviously – some serious, most not – but they didn’t matter. Not like you do. You make me happier than I’ve ever been. I’ve never had this feeling with anyone else. Just you.”  
  
Addison is quiet for a moment, considering this. “I don’t think I’ve had this feeling before either.”  
  
“It’s okay to say that you have, Ad. We didn’t have a conventional path to the couple thing — we’re still not all that conventional. And there’s history. You were with Derek a long time, so I get it,” Mark says kindly, and she loves this about him. He is secure about Them, and never speaks negatively about Derek or does anything to snub her marriage. In fact, if Addison asked him, she is certain that he would say Derek is still his best friend, even though it really isn’t mutual. Not anymore.   
  
“I did love Derek, very much, and for a long time, but not…not like _this_. This is different,” she explains. “You see me. You know me. He didn’t, at least not completely. But it’s not really about a compare and contrast thing. We wouldn’t still be together if ticking off boxes was all this was for me. I just know it’s different with you. Like I’ve found my footing. I’m more ‘me’ with you than I’ve ever known myself to be before, and you know, like, _everything_ about me and you still love me.”   
  
Mark smiles and kisses her after this, tangling his tongue with hers. It goes on for a long time, love and rain intertwined as they explore each other’s heat and it storms noisily behind them. Addison breaks away again first, this time giggling.  
  
“Kissing in the rain,” she clarifies when Mark gives her a searching look. “What a cliché.”  
  
“We are rain _adjacent_ , Addison. Which is kind of a letdown, given that this is quite the light colored top you have on. No bra, either.”  
  
Addison laughs some more, but it is the last thing she truly remembers until she feels herself being dipped into the mattress in their bedroom. She opens her eyes, blinking hazily up at Mark.  
  
“Did you carry me up here?” She asks, genuinely touched.  
  
“I didn’t want to wake you, although I probably didn’t need to move as slowly as I did; you sleep like the dead now that you’re pregnant. I couldn’t stay out there one more second though. You seemed fine, but I was starting to get cold.”  
  
She holds her arms out, feeling a rush of love and gratefulness vibrate through her. “Get in bed with me and I’ll warm you up,” she offers him a flirtatious smile.


	13. Fireworks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title of this chapter is the song that was playing during THAT Mark/Addison scene in 3x14. Just so you know. Also this is basically just 100% smut. Sorry not sorry. Chapter is a bit more mature than previous ones though.

**Chapter 13. Fireworks**  
  
Monday morning comes early, but Addison and Mark wake up refreshed and ready to head back to work after a much-needed vacation. The time off helped deliver a complete _reset_ Addison’s body desperately needed, but she knows not experiencing any gut-quivering nausea in a week has also contributed to her improved mood and higher level of energy. And as much as she loved their time in Cape Cod, she feels thrilled to get back in the OR.  
  
Their first stop is to see the Chief of Surgery. Now that Addison has reached the second trimester, she feels comfortable sharing their news. She and Mark inform Doctor Wariner that Addison is pregnant, which ends up being well-received (if only because the Chief is capable of executing a good poker face…it’s hard to imagine he wouldn’t have a few opinions about the development of this relationship and its unforeseen offspring). Addison makes sure the discussion takes place near one of the chattier admissions clerks as well. Although she normally loathes hospital gossip (the kind where she is the topic de jour, at least), she reasons with Mark (who doesn’t seem to mind either way) that it will be easier and less work on their parts to just let the rumor mill go full-steam ahead with this one. Afterwards, they head their separate ways, with plans to meet up for lunch.  
  
Medical fire after medical fire with various expectant mothers are put out all morning, so Addison is not able to sweep in to the patient section of the NICU until close to noon. A baby she does not recognize – no more than a few days old, and jaundiced – is sleeping in the isolette that has long been occupied by a baby boy Addison has grown attached to. She knows immediately what has happened, but she clings to a sliver of hope anyway, knowing she needs to hear it first.  
  
Addison glances around at the other health providers in the dimmed room, and eventually makes eye contact with one of the nurses, Charlene, who is conversing with a new mother and father on the other side of the room. Charlene catches her eyes briefly, just enough to offer a blink and nod of acknowledgement that she will come over as soon as she can.   
  
“Hey, Charlene…” Addison swallows an anxious breath confined in her throat when the younger woman approaches. “Nathan Welsh? The one with BPD…?”  
  
“Oh,” Charlene’s head briefly ducks and her wispy bangs fall across her forehead. A grimace transitions over her face when she meets Addison’s eyes again. “I’m sorry, Doctor Montgomery-Shep…Doctor Montgomery. Nathan came down with a respiratory infection last Thursday and went into cardiac arrest; we couldn’t bring him back. We tried so hard. He was always a fan-favorite here. It’s a tough loss.”  
  
“Yeah, it is…” Addison gazes down at the infant who has taken over Nathan’s “home” and wills herself not to start crying. She is certain Charlene has noticed she’s upset though. It doesn’t matter how many times Addison tells herself not to get attached: sometimes it happens, and it seems to happen in a _noticeable_ way now that she’s pregnant. Her hormones continuously succeed in generating intense reactions when mortalities occur.  
  
“Do you want me to get Doctor Sloan for you?” Charlene asks quietly.  
  
Addison manages a tight smile and looks up, a bit surprised. “Oh. I guess it’s not really a secret then.”  
  
“No,” Charlene shakes her head, and then wiggles an index finger as discretely as she can at Addison’s abdomen. She keeps her voice low as she speaks. “And neither is your other secret. I won’t say anything, of course. It’s just that there were a few weeks there where your face was super pale, which is exactly what I looked like early on when I was pregnant with Isla.”  
  
“Thanks, Charlene. No worries though; I’m starting to tell people, so it’s not really a secret anymore. And Mark is supposed to meet me for lunch in a few minutes, so it’s okay. Your daughter, Isla: she’s…two now, right?”  
  
“Almost. She’ll be two in December.”  
  
“We’ll have to have a playdate one day,” Addison arranges a smile on her face, knowing she has about two minutes before she completely loses her shit. “Anyway, I’ll see you in a little bit.”  
  
\------  
  
Mark rounds the corner and notices Addison before she sees him. Even with a large stretch of hallway between them and the NICU doors she is exiting, Addison is not hard to miss with the salmon scrubs (he feels the color looks eye-wateringly awful on everyone else, but somehow amazing on her) and the fiery curtain of hair (and also the pregnant belly, but he tries to tread carefully with weight-related matters). When she meets his eyes though, he can tell something is wrong. Addison gives him a quick shake of her head and walks towards the nearest on-call room, thankfully not far away from where she is. Mark follows after her, and when he goes to shut the door behind them and lock it, she has already pressed her face into his shoulder, trembling and starting to cry.  
  
“Hey,” he whispers, wrapping his arms around her. Mark knows it’s usually better to let Addison get the sobs out of her system while he coaches her through some slow breaths before she attempts to tell him what she’s upset about, but that logic doesn’t exist as decisively since there’s more at stake than just emotions now. “Addie, what is it? Are you – are you in pain? Is it -”  
  
“N-no,” she heaves out, knowing Mark needs her to clarify this as quickly as possible. “I’m okay. And so is Pickle. It’s Nathan. He d-died. Mark, he _died_. That sweet, sweet baby boy. And now his poor parents just…”  
  
Mark sighs in sympathy and walks her over to the nearest bed. “I’m so sorry. I’m sorry, Red. Come on, let’s lie down,” he guides her onto the mattress, getting her settled first before he joins her and cuddles her in for a hug. “Do you have anywhere you need to be soon?”  
  
“No,” she sniffles. “My next surgery isn’t until three.”  
  
“Okay, good. I’m free for awhile too. How about you rest for a bit and I’ll hold you?” Mark feels her nod gratefully into his shoulder. “I’m really sorry about Nate. You and your team did everything you could though.”  
  
“I know. It’s my fault for getting attached. But I’ll…I’ll be okay. I just need to be sad about it for a few minutes first.”   
  
“Are you...are you worried about Pickle at all? I know that makes some of the losses harder for you.”  
  
Addison hiccups nervously, closing her eyes and letting him thumb away the tears clinging to her cheekbones. She wasn’t going to mention that, but it’s not like this thought wouldn’t have crossed his mind, given her current state and profession. “A little, yeah. I’m usually not because I know the odds of anything happening or being wrong are low, but when things like this happen, it just...”  
  
“She’s okay though, Addie. Or he. Damn it, you’ve made it harder for me not to default to ‘she’ now,” he complains, and Addison’s lips raise in a smile at the cute fake huff he emits. “But Pickle is okay. Try not to worry about her-him-whichever. And you’ll be okay too. But I know this isn’t easy, and I’m sorry for that.”  
  
“Thank you. And it’s also just that I miss…” she shakes her head as grief tightens in the back of her throat. “I miss _Carolyn_. Hugs from you are wonderful, but right now I really want a hug from a mom, and she was always a more affectionate mother to me than my own. I called her _Mom_ for God sakes. I just miss her so much, Mark. And I’m thinking about her because Nathan always, always had grandparents and aunts and uncles filtering in and out of the NICU to visit. I want Pickle to have that, too.”  
  
“You could call Carolyn,” Mark offers the suggestion as gently as he can. He tucks a strand of hair back behind her ear. “She still loves you, Ad. I know she does. She probably just doesn’t feel like she should be the one to call first. We could call her together if you want.”  
  
“Yeah, maybe,” she murmurs. “Well, in the meantime, we need to make a pact.”   
  
“What is it with you and pacts? Are you twelve?”  
  
She laughs at this. “I am definitely not. I was going to say we should make a pact that we need to tell our parents about the baby and us by a certain date, since it’s remarkably easy to keep putting it off. We’ve talked about it before, but I _do_ want Pickle to have extended family, even if the family we have won’t exactly be the Mary Poppins and whatever her male equivalent is of grandparents. Let’s make a pact that we’ll call them a week from today at the latest, and then get a date on the books to have them over for dinner.”   
  
“It sounds awful, but you’re on,” Mark brushes his lips to her forehead. “Now close your eyes and rest, okay? Let me take care of you for a bit.”   
  
Addison goes quiet then, concentrating on the way his hand is rubbing against the thin material of her scrubs. She does feel relaxed now, and keeps waiting for tiredness to set in, but the air of exhaustion just doesn’t come; instead, she starts to feel incredibly aroused by the movement of Mark’s fingers kneading her back. She wriggles a bit under his embrace, restless and horny. He notices the restless part, but she suspects he doesn’t have any idea about the other one.   
  
“Normally this can put you to sleep in no time,” Mark says with a light grin. “I’m not losing my touch, am I?”  
  
“No, you’re definitely not. It’s the opposite. I’m so… _wet_ right now.”  
  
“You’re…wait. You’re what?” He heard what Addison said, _obviously_ he damn well heard, but two thoughts instantly strike him. One: she never talks like this. Two: from a _back rub_?  
  
“You’re making me wet, Mark,” she whispers with a look that can only be described as _predatory_ smokes through her blue eyes. Addison kisses him deeply, fumbling around with his hands until she is able to direct one into her scrub bottoms. “You know what they say about the second trimester.”  
  
“I don’t actually,” he groans against her lips as he strokes her through the fabric of her panties (she was not lying). “But so far I’m really liking it. And it’s clear you are, too.”  
  
Addison makes a noise of agreement and rolls onto her back to give him easier access. “Don’t stop,” she murmurs, and it only makes him grow harder at this request and the way she spreads her legs for him. She is never, ever like this. There are sighs and moans and other sensual, breathy noises that are incredible, yes, and that’s always been enough for him – more than enough. But not _this_. The words alone are a shock, but she also has never let things go this far at work; typically, or at least before she announced her pregnancy while listening ears were present, she never wanted to do _anything_ that could lead to her being the centerpiece of hospital drama. But Mark is definitely intrigued by this new development and wants to roll with it. He drags a finger slowly over her and she gasps at the contact.  
  
“You like that?” He whispers, lips curling in a roguish grin. She stares back at him, eyes fluttering seductively.   
  
“ _Mmm_. Yeah.”   
  
“Shh…” Mark shifts his hand out from between her legs (she pouts at this, but then moves one of her hands down to replace his, which is _also_ a new development). He lightly covers her mouth, just teasingly, but is also a bit serious when he tells her, “You need to be a little quieter, honey.” Mark wonders if Addison will feel insulted that he has clamped a hand over her mouth, but when her teeth scrape against his palm in a smile and her tongue darts out, licking the squiggly palm lines embedded in his skin, it is clear she likes the hand against her mouth just as much as she likes the hand currently busy inside her panties.  
  
“You don’t want me to moan for you?” She asks in a husky voice when he takes his hand off her mouth. “It feels so _good_ when you touch me, Mark.”  
  
“I want you to not alert half the hospital to what it is we’re doing right now,” he chuckles. “That said, it looks like it feels good when you touch yourself, too.”  
  
Addison smirks at him, fingers still twitching as she turns to face him. Their foreheads press against each other. “Yeah, it does. Fuck. But you’re going to join me soon, right?”  
  
He smiles back at her, and decides to test the waters a bit more. “Tell me what you want, Addison,” he dips a hand back into her pants, brushing her fingers out of the way to make room for his.   
  
It alarms him (in a good way, of course) that Addison really does not need any time to think about this. “I want you to go down on me, Mark,” she breathes over his lips. “Grip my thighs and kiss them first, but then I want your fingers curling in me and your mouth sucking on me. And long, deep strokes with your tongue. Then after you make me come, I want you to slide back up here and kiss me so I can taste myself. And then play with my breasts and push inside me and fuck me as hard as you can. Don’t slow down. I want you to make me come _hard_. I want to wake up tomorrow and need as many Aspirin as I’m allowed to have in order to walk without limping.”  
  
“ _Jesus_. Addison Montgomery, _where_ did you learn to talk like this?”  
  
“Why are you worrying about that right now when your face should be between my legs?” She quirks an eyebrow. “Get moving.”   
  
Mark figures that is not the kind of request one can ignore, or frankly, a request that one would _want_ to ignore. He grins and proceeds to do exactly what she wants.  
  
\------  
  
“You look tired. They working you too hard at the hospital?” Savvy inquires as she accepts a handful of dishes from Mark. Dinners once or twice a week have become a thing now (it still feels surreal at times to Mark that he is in a couple and has “couple friends”). They mostly go to Weiss and Savvy’s in order to be near Savvy’s mom, who is doing well, all things considered, but is weak, and also for Savvy, who is still recovering from surgery. (Savvy is pleasant as always, but makes it clear she resents this “babying,” so she tends to shoo everyone out of the kitchen after they’ve finished eating, insistent on doing something without people hovering and offering to help.)  
  
“Actually _she’s_ working me too hard,” Mark says, glancing around to confirm that Addison, Weiss, and Savvy’s mom are still in the dining room. He likes the second trimester. He really, really does. In the past two days, he’s liked it in the on-call room a few more times, as well as in the bed (typical), on the couch (typical), in the shower (typical), on the kitchen table (less expected), on the counter (less expected), and in the bathroom with them both facing the mirror (less expected). There have also been some incredibly explicit text messages from his girlfriend that have made him borderline afraid to check his cell phone at work in case he has a strong reaction to what she has to say and isn’t able to meet up with her right away. And while it’s fun and it’s great and being woken up in the middle of the night for sex or waking up this morning to see her buried under the blanket and feel her mouth on him is nothing short of phenomenal, it’s also a _lot_.   
  
Savvy frowns. “What do you…? Oh. _Oh_. Yeah, I’ve heard that for some women their sex drive goes through the roof when they hit the second trimester. I feel like you should be happier about this though…? You don’t really look happy, Mark.”  
  
“Believe me, I’ve been happy a ton in the past forty-eight hours. A _ton_. Too many times, actually – and I didn’t know that was possible. I’ve never been this tired before. And sore. She’s doing things that are just…sorry, Sav. You probably don’t want to know.”  
  
“I don’t, but sadly I also do. Maybe it’s because I’ve been watching too much trashy TV while I’m laid up, but just tell me without telling me too much.”  
  
“She’s like…possessed. Perfect example: Addison sent me a text this afternoon that was so racy I felt my face go red,” Mark shakes his head in disbelief. “That _never_ happens to me. It’s not a bad thing obviously, but it’s just not who she is, so this is all surprising. Like Addison says, she’s from Connecticut. Which I’ve never really understood, but -”  
  
“You don’t? It’s just her weird, WASP-ish way of saying she doesn’t masturbate and dirty talk isn’t really her thing.”   
  
“Oh. You know that?”  
  
“ _Duh_. You didn’t? How did you not make that connection? Are you an idiot? I let you _operate_ on me. You could have killed me.”  
  
Mark smirks. “Relax, my perverted girlfriend was there the whole time. But yes, I mean, from context, I kind of assumed that was what Addison was hinting at, but I never directly asked or gave it a lot of thought besides just teasing her about it…”  
  
“Well, it sounds like she’s decidedly _not_ from Connecticut at the moment. Best of luck to you.”  
  
“No, she’s from some place where…where…shit, I can’t even think of a place. Savvy, I’m so tired. And there is some, uh, pain and discomfort down there that I’ve never had before. Can you say something to her? Like, drop a hint or something?”  
  
“Hell no. Not my job. And by the way, some of us can’t _have_ sex at the moment due to recovering from surgery, so some of us don’t really want to hear your whining. Keep complaining and I’ll tell Addie that the new trend for women is to use their teeth more.”  
  
“You’re a monster. But yeah, yeah, I know. Sorry. It’s not the worst problem to have. Far from it.”  
  
“Just tell her you need to tap out for a bit,” Savvy shrugs. “You were raised in New York too, right? We’re not cryptic; we say shit.”  
  
\------  
  
“Oh Christ,” Mark mumbles early the next morning when he feels Addison’s lips on his neck. He is lying in his stomach, head turned away from her. “What time is it?”  
  
“Almost five.”  
  
“Way too early, honey. And I have surgery at eight, so I need some more sleep,” he tries to reason, but it does nothing to stop the feverish kisses Addison is scattering along his jaw.  
  
“Just think of this as your wakeup call,” she purrs, sliding a hand beneath his shirt to trace designs over his back and shoulders.   
  
Mark sighs and rolls over, waving the sexual white flag in his head. He sucks on a particular spot on her neck that always gets her hot (not that that takes much lately) and runs a hand down her torso. He doesn’t bother with any teasing or buildup by way of rubbing her hipbones or stroking her inner thighs because he knows she’s ready (it also helps that Addison didn’t bother to put clothes back on after she had pounced on him a few hours ago). Said readiness thankfully guarantees it won’t take long to get her off. Mark’s fingers do indeed slip against an unsurprising amount of wetness, and he pleasures her with two fluttering fingers and a thumb while breathing over her lips, watching her skin flush as she exhales in tiny pants. Soon enough, Addison rocks against his hand and throws out a series of moans when he hits a particular spot. She tenses around his fingers and shouts her release.   
  
“Okay,” Mark quietly removes his hand. Addison blinks at him with hazy, sexed-up eyes, and he knows she’s expecting him to pull her on top of him (her horizontal position of choice for the most part in the past twenty-four hours) and keep this going. Instead, he presses firm kisses to her lips in between each desperate word: “Now. Go. To. Sleep.”   
  
“That’s _it_?” She whines.  
  
“Yes,” he rolls over to his side of the bed, turning his back to her. “I’m closing my eyes and going to sleep. I encourage you to do the same. Or keep going by yourself; that’s an option, too.”  
  
“Mmm. I can and you can watch, but I’d rather have you participate. That’s seriously it, Mark? Come on.”  
  
“ _Addison_. Please. I’m exhausted. And sore…the bad kind of sore.”  
  
“There’s a bad kind for you?”  
  
“Apparently. It involves a really stiff neck - I know you don’t mean to do it, but your legs sometimes snap closed around me like a God damn bear trap when I’m eating you out, and _Christ_ , the fact that you didn’t even protest just now when I said _Eating. You. Out._ is frightening enough without the neck pain. You’ve gone crazy in the last forty-eight hours, woman. And there’s also some chafing and a friction burn, and frankly, I always thought the latter was a myth. You’ve broken me. I love you and I really love having sex with you, so thank you, Addison, truly, for all the sex, but right now I need some time to recover. I can no longer keep up with your sexual demands. Now please let me sleep.”  
  
Mark feels her hand curl around his shoulder the second he closes his eyes (because of course). He starts to pray to a God he doesn’t entirely believe in to give him the strength to get through having sex with his girlfriend again (what a weird twist his life has taken), but it only takes a few moments to register that her hand is moving soothingly over his muscles, not a come-on, but something born of comfort and understanding.   
  
He twists back over to face her, feeling guilty. “Hey,” Mark takes the hand that was rubbing his shoulder and cups it between his. He presses a kiss to one of her knuckles. “Sorry. I didn’t hurt your feelings, did I?”  
  
“No, it’s okay,” Addison offers a sheepish smile. “I’m sorry I broke you. I could probably use a break too. I know I’ve been…like, I’m usually not -”  
  
“Interested in getting yourself off or talking like a hooker? Yeah, I know. Savvy explained the Connecticut thing.”  
  
“You really couldn’t figure it out on your own?” She giggles.   
  
“That’s what Sav said too. And look, I’m not saying we should take a _long_ break from sex. Just enough for me to heal.”  
  
“I get it. You’re off the hook for a bit. But you’ll still cuddle with me, right?” Addison asks, already edging closer.   
  
Mark smiles, gathering her the rest of the way into his arms. “Yes, you little cheese ball. Come here.”  
  
“Wait. Do you want me to put some clothes on first?”  
  
“Only if you want to. You’re sexy as hell, but there’s absolutely no way Mark Junior is going to make an appearance right now. He’s very tired, Addison. Let’s give him some time to rest.”


	14. Buildings and Bridges

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, here we go. Keeping in mind that the original was written 13 years ago, and obviously we have learned a lot more about the "real" lives of the characters since then. So a few things:
> 
> 1\. I refuse to believe Derek’s mom didn’t like Addison because WTF. How could you not. So I’m writing her as someone who likes Addie, even still. And she’s a tough cookie, but a little softer than how Mrs. Shepherd was written on Grey’s. I only saw the episode where she visits Seattle and Meredith’s alarmingly high ponytail, but I remember hearing in later episodes that she isn’t really all that warm towards Amelia???
> 
> 2\. The original MTGOF was written before we knew the name of Derek’s mom. We also only knew Nancy and Kathleen (in name only) at the time - the other two sisters were not named. Weirdly though, I did select Carolyn as a name for one of Derek's other sisters, which ended up being the name of Derek’s mom! Anyway, the names have been updated accordingly (I’m still writing Addison as being closest to Nancy and I’m not really incorporating Amelia as much into this, even though I adore her).
> 
> 3\. The original was written before we knew the names of Addison’s parents, that she had a brother, etc. The redux version of this story does not really incorporate anything from Private Practice (Sam and Naomi's names come up a few times, but they really aren't involved). I can pretend it’s about maintaining some of the integrity of the original MTGOF, but mostly it’s born out of personal laziness, so I will not be correcting the names of Addison’s parents to Bizzy and “The Captain” (mother will remain Isabelle like in the original, father has been changed from John in the original to Henry - more on that later), and I’m not adding in that asshole Archer either. I understand that in doing all this, I am forfeiting the right to have Addison's mom say, "I'm a lesbian, dear. Deal with it." And it hurts that I can't have that, but I am trying to make peace with this decision.
> 
> 4\. Mark’s mom is still alive (though his parents really will not be included much)
> 
> 5\. Nancy likes Meredith when she meets her (or at least warms to her). I’ve decided this, okay?

**Chapter 14. Buildings and Bridges**  
  
“Addison?” Isabelle Forbes Montgomery answers her cell phone, and hears a long, cautious puff of air before her daughter returns the greeting.   
  
“Hello, Mom.”  
  
“What’s wrong?”  
  
“Nothing’s _wrong_ -wrong,” Addison responds. She is currently walking in large, foot-dragging circles around the living room while Mark sits close by on the couch, a captive audience. Mark had followed through with his part of their pact first, and although Addison was cutting it dangerously close to not meeting their deadline, she knows the next thing she tells her mother will put them back on even footing. “I just wanted to tell you and Dad that…well. I’m pregnant.”  
  
“Wow. So nothing’s _wrong_ -wrong, but something is certainly a _surprise_ -surprise. Does Derek know? How are you going to manage to raise a child together when you’re divorced and live on opposite ends of the country?”  
  
“It’s actually not Derek’s baby, Mom.”  
  
“Well then. Whose is it, pray tell?”  
  
“Um, do you remember Mark Sloan? He’s Derek’s best friend…” Addison hesitates when her mother makes some sort of disgruntled noise. “He was the best man at our wedding, so you’ve met him before.”  
  
“Yes, I remember. He gave a nice toast at the reception, and then if memory serves, he proceeded to get rip-roaring drunk and made a pass at Melanie Weinberg’s daughter. I’m pretty sure he slid a hand down her dress, too. And he also dropped a glass of wine at some point. This is the fatherhood-material gentleman we’re talking about here, yes?”  
  
 _That description of him at the wedding definitely tracks_ , Addison thinks. She glances at Mark, who mouths _What?_ but she shakes her head and hastily looks away. “One and the same,” she answers her mother. “He’s grown up a lot since then though.”   
  
“I would certainly hope so. Okay, so you’re having a baby with your ex-husband’s best friend. How did this happen?”  
  
“Biologically speaking or…?”  
  
“No. How about ‘consider your life and consider your choices’ speaking. Do not be a smart mouth.”   
  
“Okay. Well, um…we had an affair. But _Mom_ , before you scream or do a Victorian-style faint on the sofa, I _swear_ we’re really happy and things are good. We’re going to work. This isn’t just me trying to smooth everything over and pretend like this was the plan all along or the only save-face option for blowing up my marriage.”  
  
“Oh, Addison. This is like an episode of _Days of Our Lives_.”  
  
“A bit, yeah,” Addison concedes.  
  
“So the order for this tasteless little adventure of yours is…affair, divorce, pregnancy? Or affair, pregnancy, divorce? Please tell me it’s not the latter.”  
  
“Well, that’s how it would happen on a soap opera, right?”  
  
“Again with the back talk. I hope your child is just as fresh-mouthed as you were growing up so you know what your father and I had to put up with,” Isabelle says, and although Addison knows she’s _serious_ , she does catch the light undertone of teasing in her mother’s voice as well. She knows then what she has always suspected: her mother is far better with _adult_ children than baby-children or children-children. Addison knows she will be different with Pickle though.  
  
“You’ll like him, Mom. I promise. And you’ll like his parents. Mark grew up in New York, but his parents live in Beacon Hill now. They’re like the Boston version of you and Dad. Husband does something in finance and wife does a lot of volunteer work for non-profits and other cliché people-with-old-money things.”  
  
“Well, I suppose that’s good to know.”  
  
“Oh, and Mark’s a doctor, too. Plastic Surgeon. One of the best in his field.”  
  
“Also good. Good for you from an at-least-he’s-not-after-your-trust-fund perspective, and good for me for maybe getting rid of some of these hideous wrinkles that keep popping up. I wonder if I need a breast lift, too. I suppose I could ask him for his opinion.”  
  
“Mom, _don’t_. Or find someone in Connecticut to ask. That’s so embarrassing. I’m begging you to never bring this up in front of my boyfriend.”  
  
“Addison, you spend all day looking at other women’s hoo-hoos. I’d expect you to be less prudish about this. I refuse to be a grandma with wrinkles, or actually, even be _called_ grandma. We’ll find a different name for me. Anyway. How far along are you? And when are you due?”  
  
“Fifteen weeks. And I’m due in early April. I wanted to tell you, obviously, but I’m also calling because we’d like to have you guys come for dinner. Mark’s parents, too. We were thinking next Saturday, if you’re able to make it? I can get you guys a room at the Baccarat if you’d like.”  
  
“We can probably make that work. But, Addison, _do_ try not to have another affair or engage in any other soap opera theatrics in the meantime. Think you can manage that, my dear?” Isabelle says, and this time the teasing is not subtle at all.  
  
Addison rolls her eyes and laughs. “Yes, Mom.”  
  
“It sounds like it went okay?” Mark asks when Addison says goodbye to her mother with plans to talk later next week. She glances at him and grins.  
  
“Yes,” she confirms. “But we need to limit your time alone with my mother. I think she wants to talk to you about breast augmentation.”  
  
\------  
  
The home situated in a quiet suburb outside of Albany is one Mark knows as well, if not _better_ , than he knew his childhood residence. The webbed cracks in the concrete steps, the maple tree shading the front yard, the rarely-used fireplace, the terrarium that always held some kind of Amphibian (he put Derek’s frog in the microwave _one time_ and never pressed start, and yet he will never live this one down), the bedrooms, the jar of change on a hallway accent table – it all spells out home as much as anything else he has ever known to be true.   
  
Mark observes that one of the windows is missing a berry-shaded blue shutter. Such a flaw on any other home would generate an aura of melancholy, but he knows in this case it probably hasn’t been neglected for too long. Carolyn Shepherd usually works through to-do list matters quickly and is no stranger to getting things done on her own.   
  
It has been a week since Henry and Isabelle Montgomery and Everett and Julia Sloan descended on their apartment. By all accounts (and despite minor freak-outs from Addison all day that left Mark to wonder if going through with the get-together was a wise idea), the dinner was considered a success. The parents got along very well, and although they were _not_ pleased there would be no wedding prior to the baby’s arrival, they mostly seemed open to the idea of welcoming a grandchild into the family (not that there was an alternative option at this point), and maybe even a little bit excited by the end of the evening (going through several bottles of expensive wine probably helped).   
  
Success aside, the bringing together of his parents and Addison’s to begin their collective journey as grandparents only heightened Mark’s feelings of wistfulness that there was _another_ woman who he would love to have involved in his life and the life of his kid. He and Addison have not talked about it since that day in the on-call room, but he knows she feels the same way. And now he is here.   
  
Mark walks up the steps (eight, he knows) leading to the front door, his fingers skimming nervously over the weathered vinyl railing (they used to slide down it on alternate sides to see who could go faster, but they stopped doing it after Liz tipped backwards and needed several staples). Before he can knock though, the door opens (either Carolyn saw him coming, or her impeccable mother’s intuition propelled her towards the front door), revealing a pair of warm brown eyes and a smile Mark isn’t really sure he deserves.   
  
“Is that Mark Sloan?” Carolyn Shepherd teases, pulling him into her arms for a hug. “What a surprise. Come in here and let me get you something to drink. You came by yourself? Are you hungry at all?”  
  
“Yes to coming by myself, and no thank you to anything to eat. I’m fine,” Mark answers to her retreating figure as he follows her into the kitchen, which looks the same as he remembers. “I wanted to see you. And, you know…do the whole tail between my legs thing and explain myself.”  
  
“Kind of a difficult one to explain, I would imagine. Does Addie know you’re here?”  
  
“No,” he admits. “She’s hanging out with her friend Savannah today. They were going shopping or something. I told her I was playing a few tennis matches. I wasn’t sure if you’d want to see her. Well, I’m not sure that you want to see _me_ either, and frankly I’d understand if you didn’t, but I didn’t want to put her through this if you hate her or whatever.”   
  
“Of course I don’t hate her,” Carolyn replies. “Furious with her, and you, yes, but it’s not like…it’s not like I stopped thinking of her as family or stopped loving her. And I just figured I’d leave it up to her if she wants to contact me. I don’t want to call if it’s going to stress Addie out, especially in her current condition.”  
  
He startles a bit. “You know?”  
  
“Nancy told me. By way of Derek. I thought we might have to do a short straw system, but she volunteered to go out there and find out what on earth is going on with that boy. And when I talked him last week, I told him he either comes out here next month for Thanksgiving, or the girls and I are going to show up in the middle of the night,” she says, and then raises a teasing eyebrow at Mark. “By the way, I lectured you both about condoms in high school, did I not?”  
  
“Respectfully, Carolyn, your son didn’t need to be there for that discussion.”   
  
She reaches across the table to playfully whack Mark’s shoulder. “Well my _younger_ son definitely did,” she says with a laugh, and then quiets, staring at him in contemplation. “I think that’s what makes me feel a certain way about this – or not feel another way. It would be different if you weren’t like family to me, but I practically raised you too. I love you like a son, Mark. And I love her like a fifth daughter. That isn’t to say I wasn’t disappointed and _shocked_ when I first heard…I could have absolutely beat you both upside the head for hurting my baby boy like that, but you and Addie aren’t monsters. It was a stupid and hurtful thing to do, but I don’t believe it was intentional. And you and I both know that life can be too short – and too unpredictable – to harbor resentment and not extend forgiveness. I _also_ know that Addie really isn’t willing to put up with much crap from anyone, so I’m assuming you’re being a good partner to her?”   
  
“I love her, you know,” Mark says quietly. “I never would have done anything about it, but she – never mind. I’ve loved her for a long time though, even before anything happened between us. And we’re not just staying together because of the baby, or in an attempt to ensure we didn’t end their marriage just for the thrill of it.”  
  
“Well, I’m glad to hear that. You’re a very kind and decent person, Mark. You don’t always let everyone see that side of you, but it sounds like you let her see who you really are. So don’t screw this up. I don’t want that girl getting hurt and I don’t want my unofficial-grandchild getting hurt either.”  
  
“I won’t. I promise.”  
  
Carolyn smiles. “So how’s Addison doing?”  
  
“She’s good. She’s four months pregnant now. We’re, um, going to find out the sex in a few weeks. Addie thinks it’s a girl.”  
  
“Because that’s all this family needs: _another_ girl. Pity there’s so few of them,” she jokes. Mark’s heart lifts at this.  
  
“Carolyn, do you think…do you think Derek will ever forgive me?”  
  
She reaches out and squeezes one of his hands. She offers a small nod. “Just give him time, honey. He’ll come around.”   
  
“Addison likes his new girlfriend, by the way. She met her when she was out in Seattle helping with a case.”   
  
“Nancy said she came around to her as well. And she thought Derek seemed happy. The last few times he was up here I thought maybe he wasn’t – there was just this look in his eyes that was a little ‘off’ – so that was nice to hear. Anyway,” she stands and beckons for him to follow. “Since you’re here, I could use a little help with installing a new shutter; I had to get a replacement since the old one took too many hits last winter. I already marked the corners and did the prep stuff. You can hold the shutter steady while I drill the pilot holes.”   
  
“That’s it?”  
  
“I’ll consider allowing you to use the hammer. You’re lucky you get to even do that though. We need to protect those surgeon hands, and besides, you were never much of a handy man anyway. By the way: you make sure you tell Addie where you were today. And don’t lie to her again. You hear me? Or should I pull on your ear just to be sure?”  
  
“I hear you, Mama Shepherd.”   
  
“Good. And you tell her that girl that I still love her, and to call me sometime, if she wants. Or visit. I’d love to have you both over. Now grab the new shutter over there, and don’t touch anything else until I give you permission.”  
  
\-----  
  
Mark waits until they’re in bed that night to tell her. “Addison,” he says nervously, stilling a hand on her back. “I have to tell you something. I went and saw Carolyn today. I wasn’t with Russell. I didn’t want to say anything in case it didn’t go well, and I didn’t want to upset you.”  
  
Addison tenses in response, knowing she’ll revisit the lack of honesty later, but first needing to know how it went. “Oh. How…how did it go?”  
  
“Really well. She said to tell you that she loves you, and to call her sometime,” he holds her a bit tighter as he recaps more about the few hours he spent with Carolyn.  
  
Addison exhales, the breath heavy with emotion as it whispers across Mark’s neck. She pulls back in order to make eye contact with him. “I’m glad it went well. And that she…that that’s how she feels. But please don’t lie to me again, Mark. I don’t keep secrets from you, so I except you not to keep any from me. Especially about things pertaining to Derek or family members.”   
  
“I won’t. I promise. I really _am_ sorry, Addie. Are you mad at me?”  
  
She smirks while giving a quick shake of her head. “Slightly annoyed, but I understand why you did it. And that you were just trying to protect me. You’re sweet, to do this for me and for us. I’m not going to hold it against you.”  
  
“No?”  
  
“If this was a few weeks ago, I probably would have for a day or two just to screw with you. But now I seriously can’t. Even saying the word ‘screw’ does something to me. And I know how I’ve been feeling and how I’ve been acting won’t last forever, but Second Trimester Addison is just a terrifying force of nature. I can’t stop _thinking_ about you. Even when I’m at work. It’s an occupational hazard, really. You’re banned from the gallery while I’m operating until further notice, because if I look up and see you, it’s like I have no control over the situation between my legs.”  
  
He chuckles. “You’re too good for my ego, you know.”  
  
“Mark? I know this won’t _help_ your already over-inflated ego, but one of these mornings can you wake me up with your tongue? I really, really want you to do that. I’ve been thinking about it, like, all day.”  
  
“You got it.”  
  
\------


	15. All the Wild Horses

**Chapter 15. All the Wild Horses**  
  
Once their bodies have relaxed against one another, completely sated, Mark’s hands drift away from their previous engagement of guiding Addison’s hips up and down. He curls an arm around her lower back, and threads a hand through her hair, fingertips scratching her scalp as they both work to overcome the staccato gusts of breathlessness rebounding through them. Addison eventually lets out a closed-mouthed hum of satisfaction, places a lingering kiss to his neck, and then unwraps her legs from where they’ve been curled around his waist. She lifts herself out of Mark’s lap, which grants him the opportunity to uncross his legs (the stillness after they both came made him very aware of how _uncomfortable_ his legs felt to be bowed in this position, but he chose to wait it out without complaint, because it is basically impossible to be annoyed with a very naked Addison Montgomery). He follows after her, ready to go back to sleep for a bit.   
  
“We should stay in bed all morning more often,” Mark says with a grin.

“Mm-hmm, yeah,” Addison agrees, twisting around to press her back to Mark’s chest once he’s settled on his pillow. “I’m glad we took the day off, with or without the sex. There’s no way I would have been able to concentrate today with our appointment this afternoon.”

He smiles into her hair and pats a hand against her stomach. “I can’t believe we’re almost halfway there. And that we’re going to know if it’s a girl or boy in just a few hours. I’m so excited, Ad.”  
  
“Me too. And possibly Pickle is as well. He or she is fluttering right now.”

“Pickle’s kicking?” He moves his hand around more in an attempt to find the right spot.

“No, just fluttering,” she tells him. “You’ll feel actual kicks a little closer to the end of this trimester.”

“Fluttering,” Mark repeats, considering this. “What does it feel like?”

“Swirly. Flip-flop-ish. Kind of like that butterfly feeling you get when you’re falling madly in love with someone.”  
  
“Wouldn’t know. Never experienced that,” he jokes, and Addison lightly nudges his chest with her elbow.  
  
“Aren’t you funny. Well, it makes me think of when you’re a kid on a swing, and you’re going really high and there’s that funny rush in your stomach, like a tumbling motion.”

“So it’s really going to be a few more weeks until _I’ll_ actually be able to feel anything though?” He asks, tone conveying disappointment.

“Yep. Sorry. There have to be _some_ perks to being the one who does all the hard work of carrying the baby, don’t you think?” Addison inhales sleepily, also ready to take a nap for a few more hours (admittedly, she and Mark did not do much sleeping last night). “Hey,” she says first, eyebrows furrowed in concentration; she knows she recognizes what he’s doing. “That tapping you’re doing on my stomach right now…I’m getting opening chords for ‘London Calling’ vibes. Am I wrong, Mark?”

“You’re…not wrong.”   
  
“I didn’t think so. Look, I can tolerate Joe Strummer and his crew in small doses, but please don’t force Pickle to like The Clash.”  
  
“I’ll do my best.”   
  
\------  
  
“I should burn those ridiculous heels when you aren’t looking,” Maggie mumbles this comment at Addison’s Miu Miu-covered feet while she gets everything set to conduct the latest ultrasound.  
  
Addison frowns, peering down at her navy blue slingbacks, a recent purchase from a shopping trip with Savvy. “You don’t like them? I just got them.”  
  
“I love them. They’re stunning and they look great with your outfit. But they’re at least three inches high. You’re pregnant, Addison. Give your feet a chance to breathe once in a while. Nikes and slip-on shoes are your friend.”   
  
“ _Ew_ , gross.” Addison replies with a wince, mostly for this abominable suggestion, but also a little bit because of the coldness of the gel Maggie has started to spread over her abdomen. “Not if I’m not at the gym or in the OR, they’re not.”   
  
“I keep trying to tell her,” Mark says with a tight smile, meeting Maggie’s eyes in camaraderie. “She doesn’t listen though.”  
  
“Sounds about right. Well, Mark, we’re both just going to have to keep trying. Rarely am I not on the side of the pregnant woman, but in your case, Addison, it seems like I am. Okay. Well, enough of that for now. I’ll send you a lecture-y style text later. You two ready to find out if your kiddo is a he or a she?”  
  
Their doctor waits until they both nod, and then turns the display screen towards them while mapping the transducer over Addison’s stretched skin. The echoes of the reflecting sound waves fill the room. Maggie is at a more convenient angle than Addison and makes the connection a hair quicker. She then studies Addison, watching the redhead process what she sees (or doesn’t see in this case, from an anatomical perspective).  
  
“It’s a girl,” Addison whispers, her lips pulling into a wide, radiant smile. She tears up and tightens her grip on Mark’s hand.   
  
“Is she right, Doctor Connelly?” Mark asks quickly.  
  
Addison makes a disgruntled noise and shoots a dirty, indignant look up at him. “No. I’m wrong and I’m just taking a wild guess since I’ve got a fifty-fifty shot here. I only do this for a living, Mark. Of course I’m right,” her voice softens near the end though when she peeks back to the screen, observing the wiggling movements of the baby’s tiny limbs. They both know that from their ridiculous fruit book, Pickle is a sweet potato this week.  
  
“Yes, Mark,” Maggie confirms. “She’s not polite, but she’s right. It’s definitely a girl. Everything looks good, too. This is a healthy baby. Everything in there looks good for you too, mom-to-be, although I know you’re only half listening to me right now since you can’t take your eyes off your daughter.”   
  
Maggie reaches out with her unoccupied hand to snag a few captures emerging from the video printer. “Okay,” she guides the transducer away from Addison’s body and places it on a nearby tray, alongside the sonogram photos. “We can look some more later if you want. Right now though I’m going to give you a minute or two.”  
  
“Hey, Doctor Connelly,” Mark calls out when their doctor opens the exam room door. He offers a furtive stare and cocks his head towards Addison, who has a hand hemmed to her stomach while tears begin a wobbly descent down her cheeks. “Maybe more like five?” He suggests, and Maggie beams back in agreement.  
  
“A girl. It’s a _girl_ ,” Addison exclaims when it’s just the two of them. She lets out a raspy, delighted laugh. “Oh, Mark, we’re having a girl. I’m so happy. I’m laughing and I’m crying and I’m smiling because I’m so, so incredibly happy.”  
  
“Me too,” Mark brushes his lips to her temple and draws his fingers along the crests of her cheeks to dab at her pearly tears. “I’m happy too, Addison. And not just because you get pouty when you’re wrong and also not just because it ensures all the times we’ve already called Pickle ‘her’ weren’t in vain. A daughter. Holy shit. I’m just…I’m just so…” he shakes his head back and forth, unable to put into words yet just how _deeply_ emotional and beautiful all of this is. “You know what? I’m buying her a pony.”  
  
“No. No, you are not.”  
  
“Hey, she’s my daughter and I’ll spoil her rotten if I want to. Well. _Our_ daughter, actually. But the pony thing stands.”  
  
“Our daughter,” Addison repeats. She leans against Mark’s shoulder and closes her eyes, wanting to hang on to this moment for as long as possible, just the three of them.  
  
\------  
  
“I hate when people do really cliché girly-girl or ‘all boy’ rooms,” Addison opines as she and Mark walk around a Barnes & Noble after their big appointment. She had felt an excess of energy and giddiness zapping through her and didn’t feel quite ready to go home just yet, so she talked Mark into doing a little wandering along Fifth Avenue first. “I want to find a happy medium. I do think _themes_ are cute though, and I always like the floral crib sheets and blush pinks and grays I see all over Pinterest that it seems like everyone due with a girl goes crazy over, but maybe there’s a way to incorporate something like that without making it scream ‘girl.’ But there’s so many other cute options too. Maybe zoo animals with a cute little wall gallery. Or a moon and stars or ‘you are my sunshine’ theme…”  
  
“You know this is just a bookstore though, right? I don’t think we’re going to find Yankees-themed wallpaper in here,” Mark beams (not that she would ever give the green light for a baseball-centered room), and squeezes her hand tighter. Seeing her this happy makes him this happy.  
  
“Even if we did see Yankee wallpaper, we won’t be getting it. But I’m just thinking out loud about her room. Starting with books is easier though, and requires less for us to carry today – well, for you to carry, let’s be honest. There’s so many classics I want her to have. I’ll be sensible and mostly just go on Amazon later for her book collection, but today I want to grab copies of _The Tale of Peter Rabbit_ , _A Little Princess_ , _The Secret Garden_ , _Charlotte’s Web_ , _Black Beauty_ , and _Madeline_. I know that’s kind of a random grouping and not really infant-esque, but those are the ones I remember I loved having read to me the most before I started reading on my own. We can tackle the bigger purchases later, although I know some of that stuff might be a bit boring for you.”  
  
“Not really. I want to be involved with the room stuff. The clothes and shoes part will probably be more boring for me though. I’ll still go with you of course, but that feels more like a you and Savvy task.”  
  
“You’re probably right about that. Also, there aren’t any ponies in here, just so you know. Maybe you can just settle for getting her a stuffed one instead.”  
  
“I’ll take that into consideration.”  
  
\------  
  
Addison knows she will only be able to tolerate remaining out on the balcony for a few more minutes due to the temperature starting to drop. Her outer layers include a below-hip cardigan and Uggs, but it’s still chilly even with warmer attire. Still, she knows she won’t want to do this when cold snaps and snow inevitably descend upon the city in a few weeks, so for now she enjoys the cool nip on her cheeks while taking in the autumn landscape of Central Park in the distance. The orange and yellow-turned trees look like a stretch of fire.   
  
“You’re not perfect,” Addison says softly to Mark when he comes to stand next to her, both for the sake of company and to provide her with an update: takeout from her favorite French place is on its way (not his favorite dinner, but he’ll tolerate it for her).   
  
Mark nudges her shoulder playfully. “The hell I’m not. How can you be sure?”  
  
“Not done. I just mean…you’re not perfect. And I’m not perfect either. ‘Perfect’ isn’t in my vocabulary anymore. It’s not in anyone’s once you stop being a young thing. We’re not a perfect couple because there’s no such thing as a perfect couple and love isn’t always a fairytale or storybook. But sometimes love just finds people and together we’re just…” Addison turns to face him and graces him with a demure smile. “I know I sound insane. And mushy. I’m just trying say that you’re _here_. You’re here and I’m here, and I’m looking at you and all I can think is that I could love you for the rest of my life.”  
  
“I could, too,” Mark replies. He pulls her in for an embrace, and comfortably rests his chin on top of her head (trading the stilettos for sheepskin boots puts her at more of a height disadvantage). “And I will, Addison. You and Pickle both.”  
  
\------  
  
Mark steps out of the shower the next morning and decides that as soon as he slings a towel around his waist, he’s going back into the kitchen to look at the photos again. Each time seeing them feels like the first. He and Addison have made many non-food-related trips to the fridge since yesterday just to see the ultrasound photos secured under a Columbia University magnet. Their fingers have traced over the outline of their little girl who, just for a moment, is a dappled silhouette, preserved and captured in a spray of curved lines and flickering whirlpools of black and gray.  
  
Even just _thinking_ about the photos makes Mark’s heart balloon with pleasure, making it clear that he has indeed become _that_ dad. _I didn’t think I’d ever have or get to have a family like this_ , he told Addison last night after another round of lovemaking. She had smiled in response and kissed him, long and soft. “Well, you do,” she said afterwards. “And now you have two girls in your life who you’re stuck with, so you better get used to having a family.”  
  
“Poor timing,” Mark says with a sly grin when Addison opens the bathroom door and walks over to him. “Five minutes earlier and you could have been in that shower wet and naked with me, you know. But I’ll definitely get back in there if that’s not off the table.”  
  
Addison shakes her head, running a hand through her hair, which she is most likely to do if she’s stressed or deep in thought. “I just got off the phone with Savvy,” she tells him. Her voice is soft, but clear. “Her…her mom.”  
  
“Oh no,” Mark presses his lips together in concern. “Did she…?”  
  
“Yeah. Yesterday afternoon. I know she was weaker over the last week and an in-home nurse was starting to come over a bit more, but she’d still been doing…I – I just can’t even imagine. Sav’s dad walked out on her and her mom when she was a toddler. The idea of not having parents…” Addison sighs, knowing she is starting to vault wildly off-topic. “I’m going to head over there.”  
  
“Can I come with you, Ad?” He asks. “I just need a sec to throw some clothes on. I’d like to be there for them too, if you’re okay with it.”  
  
She offers a grateful smile. “Yes. I’d really like that. Thank you, Mark.”  
  
\------  
  
“I’m so glad you’re here,” Savvy whispers, words a little muffled into Addison’s shoulder from the tight hug she is wrapped in on her living room sectional. She shifts accordingly in order to make her words a little clearer. “Don’t feel like you have to stay too long though. I…I know it’s Saturday and your hours are insane and your pregnant self is probably fantasizing either about Mark’s penis or some food that’s –”  
  
“Stop,” Addison interrupts. She glances into the kitchen, where the men are sitting at the table drinking beer and commiserating (ten AM here, but five o’clock somewhere else). Addison feels a flash of disappointment that she and Mark aren’t delivering the important news they want to share as a unit and that it’s not occurring under different, happier circumstances, but they already made this decision, and lifting up her friend’s spirits is very much needed right now. “I’m good right here. There’s nowhere else I’d rather be right now than here with my daughter’s godmother.”  
  
“Oh, Addie. Really?”  
  
“Of course. Not even a question. We want you and Weiss to be the godparents. I can’t imagine not having you in my life, Sav. I love you and I know this little one will love you just as much.”  
  
“Well, I’m honored. We both are. And it’s a girl? I knew it.”   
  
“I feel like we all did,” Addison smiles. “I wanted to text you after the ultrasound yesterday, but I wanted to tell you even more in person, so I waited. Anyway, I’m sorry. Did I just make everything about me?”  
  
Savvy smirks, rubbing at her red-rimmed eyes. “Yeah, you _do_ do that sometimes, Addison, but it’s not on purpose. And I needed to hear this, so I’m so glad you told me – it’s stuff like this that makes life matter, that makes it important. And one day, when Weiss and I adopt, hopefully – our kid will be such good buddies with yours. I can’t wait to meet my goddaughter in the meantime though. I’m going to spoil her rotten.”  
  
“No ponies.”  
  
“I wouldn’t, only because I assumed Mark was getting her one.”  
  
“That’s what he thinks, too.”  
  
Savvy inhales a shaky breath. “Addie, you’ll…you’ll help me plan the service, right? I want to have it before Thanksgiving. I just want something simple – that’s what she wanted too. Family and friends, a quick service, and then just come back here or something for lots of food and booze. No fuss or frills. And I know Weiss will help, but -”  
  
“Of course I’ll help. I’m here for anything and everything you guys need, okay? So is Mark. And Sav, just so you know: you’re gonna make it through this. And I love you.”  
  
“I love you too. Now tell me what you’ve been consuming and craving. I need to laugh.”  
  
“Food-related cravings or penis-related cravings?”  
  
“Ha. You know what I mean.”  
  
Addison smiles. “As far as what I’m eating: lots of bagels with globs of cream cheese, mandarin oranges, tortilla chips, smoothies from this amazing place on West 67th, and McDonald’s strawberry sundaes. And I’m still deeply in love with green apples, of course. As far as cravings? Okay, so, obviously I don’t want to eat _sand_ , but I just want something that has that same amazing, crunchy texture that I imagine sand to have. The other day I went into my office at work and almost started crying because I wanted to eat sand so badly. And I’m coming up empty on crunch-neighboring foods. Any thoughts?”  
  
“Besides the fact that you’re insane? Hmm. I guess maybe a mouthful of granulated sugar? Or a packet of hot cocoa mix?”  
  
“I just don’t think granulated sugar would do what I need it to do in this case. And hot cocoa mix is too soft. Or, at least I think it would be.”  
  
“You’ve tried both of them already, didn’t you?”  
  
“Yep.”  
  
\------


	16. Lights Will Guide You Home

**Chapter 16. Lights Will Guide You Home**  
  
“Long day,” Addison mumbles when they get back into the apartment. She slips her Prada tote off a stiff, desperately-needs-a-massage shoulder and drops it onto the floor unceremoniously.   
  
“Long day,” Mark echoes in agreement, stepping around her tote and the heels she just kicked off as he shuts the door behind them. “You doing okay?”  
  
“Doing okay. Just tired,” she offers him a weak smile. Mark nods, and knows there is no disputing that fact; she looks exhausted. “It’s going to be an early night for me. I’ll be asleep before my head hits the pillow. Hey, Mark, I wanted to ask though…I heard you and Weiss talking about Derek when I went into the kitchen to get Sav a glass of water. And you both stopped talking when I came in. Very smooth. What were you talking about?”  
  
“Just that Derek’s going to come for the funeral. Look, I know this won’t be easy on you, but I’m not –”  
  
“I figured he would be coming,” she interrupts. “It was more than that though. Savvy said Weiss called Derek this morning to let him know about Judith, so I know they talked. I’m sure there were things that were said. Please just tell me. I’d rather know ahead of time, no matter what it is. You didn’t just say Derek’s name…I heard you say mine, too. So.”  
  
Mark sighs. “Addie…”  
  
“We don’t keep things from each other, Mark. Tell me _right now_. What did Derek say to Weiss about me?”  
  
“Okay. Well, Weiss told me that Derek said I could…have you. ‘Honestly, he can have her,’ were the words, I think. I swear that’s it, Addison. I had asked Weiss what was said just so I could know ahead of time if…anyway, I guess it was more the _way_ Derek said it,” Mark presses his lips together. He drifts off for a moment, imagining the speaker’s delivery, the cold dismissiveness Derek was so capable of wielding towards the end of the marriage. And he knows Addison is thinking the same thing.  
  
He expects to see sadness and hurt bloom across her features. Instead, Addison’s fingers curl tightly into her palms. Her eyes are no longer veiled with weariness when she meets his.  
  
“Wow. No one gets to just _have_ me,” she snaps, walking over to the long windows lining the living room. Mark takes Addison’s engagement with the fleeting, somber shades of dusk rather than with him as her way of indicating her thoughts on this subject are going out to mankind in general, and are not just being directed at the poor messenger. “That’s not what a relationship or a marriage even is. As though I’m a possession or some sort of fucking obligation. And that, after I did a terrible thing, discarding me was the only option left. I’m not a…” Addison shakes her head, hair fluttering wildly around her face as she wheels around to face Mark this time. “You know what? I didn’t say enough the last time I talked to him. Especially as far as _having_. When Derek started with the name-calling, I should have used the opportunity to tell him you’re bigger than he is and I’ve never come as much or as hard in my life as I have before you and I started –”  
  
“Addison,” Mark cuts in, wincing. “Don’t.”   
  
“ _Fine_ ,” she replies, cheeks ruby-flushed with irritation. “I’m just…going to sit down for a minute. And wait for my blood to stop boiling,” she forces herself to take a long, calming breath. “I don’t know why this makes me so angry. It’s arguably much worse to be called a whore and have my potential parenting skills be attacked. It’s just…knowing him, I guess. Knowing how he would have said it. He’s just such an _ass_ sometimes. And to say what he said to Weiss is so immature. And heartless and petty. Anyway. Let’s not talk about it anymore right now. It’s not how I want to spend the evening.”  
  
“We didn’t get to eat too much today. Do you want to watch TV and eat ice cream for dinner? In an angry and probably mentally unhealthy way?” Mark suggests.  
  
“Yes,” she offers an approving look at this suggestion. “Let me grab my laptop first though. It’s in the bedroom. I need to do some -”  
  
“Rage shopping in addition to rage eating?”  
  
“I actually do need to find something to wear to the funeral. I don’t think any of my current outfits that qualify as ‘funeral wear’ will fit. But I’ll rage shop first. There’s a Chloé bag out there that’s lonely and needs a good mother, I just know it.”  
  
“Hey, while you’re looking online, can you get me some of those Tom Ford shirts I like?”  
  
She gives this request some consideration, and then offers him a small, pleading smile. “Can I pick out at least one shirt for you that’s not gray, black, or blue? Remember how I’m feeling right now, Mark.”  
  
“Yes, you can. I’ll allow it because of the rage.”  
  
\------  
  
Addison startles awake a few nights later. It has not been easy lately, helping Savvy and Weiss with funeral preparations, supporting her best friend through her heartache, the long hours at work, and pregnancy-related leg cramps that plague her at night and other delightful second trimester aches and pains. And, although she can fall asleep, right now she has a lot of trouble _staying_ asleep.   
  
She turns towards Mark, grateful that utilizing a light dimmer as well as bedroom curtains that still allow a little moonlight to shine through their room means that even without contacts, she doesn’t have to squint too much to make out Mark’s sleeping face. She scoots back over to his side of the bed, trying not to visibly frown at her daughter for making her movements slower.   
  
It is their routine to fall asleep curled against one another, but there remain plenty of nights they tumble apart due to natural sleep activities or a craving for more space or because sometimes in Mark’s case, there are times after Addison has fallen asleep that their combined body heat makes it feel like he’s holding a furnace in his arms. He told her that whenever this happens he employs a “hug and roll” move on her. Addison wracked her brain until she remembered where she had first heard and seen this: an episode of _Friends_. She told him she didn’t mind, so long as he didn’t end up rolling her off the bed like Chandler did to Janice, at which point she would be furious.   
  
“Hey,” Mark murmurs sleepily, coming to a little when she pulls his arm back over her waist. “Did something wake you, Ad?”  
  
“I’m okay,” she whispers, nuzzling into his neck.   
  
“Glad to hear it, although that wasn’t the question. You’re not sleeping very well lately, are you?”  
  
“I’m okay,” she repeats, and Mark knows that he won’t get any more out of her than this right now. “Just…try not to hug and roll this time, if you’re able to help it?” She looks up at him, eyes anxious.  
  
“Yeah,” he presses his lips to the crown of her head. “I’ve got you.”   
  
\------  
  
Mark takes his cues from Addison all morning as they walk up the wet steps leading into a small, non-denominational church. He lets her ramble nonsensically about whether or not funerals are like wedding ceremonies in terms of seating, even though she guides them to a pew in the fourth row, right side, without much debate. Mark lets her talk about how she was able to convince Savvy to wear a pair of black _flats_ instead of heels, since she would be on her feet most of the day (Mark did not glance down at Addison’s three inch heels and kindly point out that the same logic could also apply to her).  
  
“You look really nice, Addie. I didn’t get to tell you that earlier,” he says once they’re seated and she has ceased babbling (if only because she seems a bit out of breath). He rubs a finger against the charcoal-colored dress she is wearing along with black stockings and a wool trench coat. It had been a busy morning so far, not really leaving him an opportunity to say much. They had stopped by Weiss and Savvy’s before the service to help with a few last-minute things, and they plan to be the first ones out the church doors when the service is over to let the caterers in to Weiss and Savvy’s townhouse and give the couple some time to converse with mourners. Addison managed to convince Mark (browbeaten him, really) it might be better if he skipped the reception after everything gets set up. It was easier to be spaced out in a church than it would be when they were at Savvy and Weiss’s. Mark did not particularly _like_ the idea, or the idea of leaving Addison alone and only coming back afterwards to pick her up, but he respected her wishes. To assuage his worries though, he privately pulled Weiss aside and asked him to please text if at any point it seemed like a rescue mission was needed to get his girlfriend out of there.   
  
Addison glances over at him, and her hair, framed in soft, long curls today, spills over one of her shoulders. A teasing smile appears on her face. “Are you hitting on me in a house of God, Mark Sloan?”  
  
“You’re not religious. And neither am I.”  
  
“That’s true,” she cranes her neck to look around him, and although there are a few friends of Judith’s and some older relatives of Savvy’s she vaguely recognizes, Addison does not see the particular person she’s looking for yet. She looks back at Mark, who she knows is watching her carefully. He’s been doing it all week. “Did you pick the seat closer to the aisle in case Derek sits on the left side? So that you can shield me from any daggers he might throw? Oh, or also ones I might throw at him?”  
  
“Guilty,” Mark grins weakly.   
  
“Well, at least we’re in church. Feels like a decent enough place to confess.”  
  
“Yeah. And the walls didn’t collapse the second we walked in, so I think we’ll be okay.”  
  
\------  
  
Addison makes eye contact with Derek once during the service, and has exchanged looks with him several times since at the reception, but they have been able to stay away from each other (she decided she would leave it up to Derek to initiate any further communication) and successfully navigate the home of some of their closest friends without overlap (it helps that Sav and Weiss are aware of how freaking awkward this is, and even in the midst of all of today’s emotions, they make sure Derek is aware that Mark is not here, and go back-and-forth between Addison and Derek to ensure each always has someone to talk to).   
  
After a while though, Addison decides this is utterly ridiculous. When the two of them eventually find themselves unsupervised by Savvy and Weiss, and on opposite sides of an unoccupied table with food and water bottles, Addison breaks the silence.   
  
“Our eyes met over the meat platter and I knew I had to have her…” she says in a sing-song voice.   
  
“Brat,” Derek whispers in response, but when he looks at her it is clear he is teasing, or at the very least does not plan to turn around and walk away. “Addison, can I…?” He grabs a water bottle and nods towards an empty corner of the dining room. She follows after him.   
  
“Mother and Father are watching,” Derek says, nodding towards Savvy and Weiss, who do a comically terrible job of trying to look away.   
  
“They are,” she replies. “You…you wanted to talk?”  
  
“Yeah, I did. Look,” he begins delicately, “the last time we talked…that was a lot of news for me to process,” he glances down at her stomach before meeting her eyes again. “It was a lot to process and it was hurtful to hear. But I shouldn’t have…Addison, I was really, really rude to you.”  
  
“You were,” she replies, gingerly crossing her arms.   
  
“I’m sorry. If it’s any consolation, Meredith was around when I was on the phone with you, and she kicked me out afterwards – I was staying at her place – and she told me to go spend the night in the trailer. There was a lot of yelling. She wasn’t happy with how I spoke to you and what I said, and told me as much. She said letting go is easy, but moving on is hard, and I had to decide what kind of person I wanted to be…and that kind of person had better not be a jackass, especially not to a pregnant woman. There was also a Gloria Steinem quote somewhere in there. Or it might have been Taylor Swift, actually. I never circled back to that one with her, now that I think about it.”  
  
A diminutive smile pulls Addison’s lips up at this confession. “It is a little bit of comfort, I guess. Hang on to her. And I’m sorry too, Derek, for what I said.”  
  
“You didn’t say anything.”  
  
“Oh, I did. Just not to your face.”  
  
“Do I want to know?”   
  
“You don’t,” she shakes her head. “I am sorry though. For _all_ of it, Derek. I never meant to hurt you. I really didn’t.”  
  
“I know you didn’t.”  
  
Addison releases a slow breath, feeling her heart twinge at how soft he said those last four words. “Derek, is this any chance we can get…through this? I know you don’t owe me anything, or have any obligation to forgive me or be friends or some sort of family again, but…I’d love to get there, if you’re willing.”  
  
“I think I’d like that,” Derek nods. “Not right now. But someday, yeah. Someday soonish. I’m willing to try, Addie.”   
  
“Is _soonish_ even a word? You hate non-words.”   
  
“Just you though,” he says, ignoring her query. “Not Mark.”  
  
“Would you be willing to try with him? Even if it’s not soon or soonish? Mark misses you so much. I’m just as much at fault for what happened as he is. More so, actually. He wanted to talk to you today, but I told him it would be better for you to approach him, if that’s something you want.”  
  
Derek takes this opportunity to untwist the cap on his bottle. “It’s not something I want. He’s not my friend anymore, Addison. And I actually…I need to head out in a few, so we probably need to wrap this up. I’m going up to visit my mom and sisters, and stay through Thanksgiving. I might be back towards the end of January though. The anniversary of -”  
  
“Your dad,” she cuts in.   
  
“Yeah. Twenty-five years. Nancy wants to do a family dinner. We don’t always do stuff like that, but we’re trying, and I think…I think sometimes, even though she doesn’t say anything about it or indicate one way or the other, Meredith makes me want to try harder with the family stuff. You know, get it right.”  
  
“That’s really good, Derek.”  
  
He smiles at this. “Anyway. If I’m in the city at all when I’m out here next time – city in _general_ , Addie, since you tend to think nothing exists outside of Manhattan – maybe we could grab lunch or something.”  
  
“I’d like that.”   
  
“Okay. Well, I’m going to go say goodbye to Weiss and Sav. I’m glad you’re here for them. And…please stay well,” Derek gives her hand a quick squeeze and walks away.   
  
\------  
  
“Long day,” Mark says, brushing a limp curl back behind her ear. Rain hammers against their bedroom windows and the overcast night sky is a temperamental blend of blue, black, and purple in the distance.   
  
“Long day,” she repeats. Addison closes her eyes, but can feel that Mark is still watching her. She had filled him in on the conversation with Derek, but was significantly nonspecific. She left out the part about Derek not wanting to talk to him, reasoning that it would just be salt in an open wound; Mark knows what Derek thinks of him. She also skipped over the topic of a potential lunch, since she suspects it probably won’t happen anyway. And at any rate, she’s too fucking tired to discuss it right now or give it much thought.   
  
“I’m okay, you know,” she says softly, opening her eyes again.   
  
Mark shakes his head. “You’re not _really_ though. None of us are right now. Not after a day like today, not after a week like this week. Do you…do you need anything? There’s still some ice cream left. We could do some sad eating, if you want?”  
  
“Make love to me,” she blurts out, and then feels her cheeks flush with awkwardness. “Sorry, I know that’s not what we – especially dirty-mind Second Trimester Addison – refer to it as, so I just…you can laugh. You can make fun of me for this one; I know it’s cheesy,” she offers a light, albeit forced smile.   
  
“I’m not going to make fun of you. You sure though?” Mark combs his fingers through her hair again and she wants to tell him to stop, that it feels too fucking _nice_ , and she doesn’t want that right now. She doesn’t want to feel _anything_ emotional.  
  
“Yes,” she responds, voice steely. “I want you. And I just really…I really, really need this - and you - right now. Take my clothes off.”  
  
Mark hesitates when she takes his hand and presses it to her hip, trying to get him to tug her shirt up. “You’re about to cry though,” he says, and they enter something of a standoff. He runs a hand over her waist, meaning for it to be comforting, but Addison thrusts her hips towards him, needing more. She attempts to slide a hand into his sweatpants, and makes a displeased noise when Mark pushes her hand away and scoots back. “Addie, I can’t,” he shakes his head. “I’m sorry. I don’t think I’d even be able to –”  
  
“God, Mark,” she says, starting to cry. “Do I have to fucking beg for this? You really don’t want me?”  
  
“Of course I want you,” he folds his arms around her, and she’s too worn-out to fight the hug or throw any more signs of frustration his way. “I want you all the time, Addison. But not like this. You’re upset and you’re hurting and you’re trying not to think about everything else. And this won’t make you feel any better. Trust me. Just let me give you a hug and love you and our little girl right now. And I’ll make love to you later when you’re feeling a little less raw, okay?”  
  
“Sap,” she chokes out, rubbing at her eyes.   
  
Mark nudges her shoulder and grins. “Hey, you started it.”   
  
“It’s just the hormones.”   
  
“Plus grief for your best friend and her family and exhaustion and not sleeping well and seeing your ex-husband today and the fact that it’s now pouring outside. You have to let yourself feel it, okay?” He tips her chin up with the pads of his fingers. “Even though it hurts. You’ve been holding it in and doing this WASP frozen-grin thing for like a week now.”  
  
Addison sniffles, eyes overflowing with more tears. “Death makes me weird. I’m sorry.”  
  
“It does that to all of us,” he replies. He helps Addison get a bit more settled in his embrace and then rubs her back, outlining gentle circles while she sobs into his shoulder. Mark holds her while she cries, hearing ordinary gasps and sharp intakes of air, but then a ripple of thunder explodes behind them and she starts to shiver, anguish getting hurled into overdrive.  
  
“Mark…”  
  
“You’re okay. Just keep taking slow breaths,” Mark strokes her cheek with the back of his hand. “And don’t waste a breath saying ‘sorry,’ either. We really gotta work on the whole ‘stop saying you’re sorry’ thing.”  
  
Addison nods. “I’m trying not to get – to get upset or have…” she shakes her head, and glances down at her stomach, expression sheepish. “I know it’s not good for her either.”  
  
“You’re okay too, baby girl,” Mark says, giving her stomach a light pat. He then tightens his arms around Addison again, whispering soothing words into her hair as she works through a few more heavy breaths.   
  
“I’m going to be okay,” she hiccups. “I’m just…just…”  
  
“Hey, Addie. Look at me. Name five things you like to drink right now.”  
  
Her eyes narrow in confusion. “Wait…what?”  
  
“It’s just a distraction thing to get you out of your head. I did some googling on how to help someone when they’re anxious and experiencing shortness of breath.”  
  
“You’ve read up on it?”  
  
“Yes. And don’t be sorry, don’t be embarrassed, don’t feel like you’re a burden, et cetera. Now, five drinks,” he repeats. “Just humor me, Addison.”  
  
“Okay. Um, orange juice. Apple juice. Water with crushed ice – not cubed, it has to be crushed. Hot Chocolate. Red raspberry leaf tea.”  
  
“Good. Five books you bought for Pickle recently.”  
  
“ _Pat the Bunny_ , _Guess How Much I Love You_ , _On the Night You Were Born_ , _Goodnight Moon_ , and _The Very Hungry Caterpillar_.”  
  
“Five colors. Any colors.”  
  
“Blue. Green. Red. Black. Aubergine.”  
  
“Addison, what the fuck is _aubergine_?”  
  
This makes her start to giggle, and it releases the build-up of pressure that has been burning through her chest. Addison exhales as slowly as she can, realizing that this is helping. “It’s a shade of dark purple. Like the color of an eggplant.”  
  
“Got it. Let’s do one more: five girls names you like right now.”  
  
“Ella. Hannah. Katherine, but we would call her Katie or Kate – just Katherine when she’s in trouble. And then four and five are Claire and Pearl,” she finishes, feeling herself growing calmer. “But, Mark, her middle name…I want it to be Savannah. I don’t want Savvy to know until she’s born, but that’s what I want her middle name to be. I know we haven’t even narrowed down a first name yet, and I saw that face you just made when I said _Pearl_ , but I…I would really like Savannah to be her middle name.”  
  
“Okay. To-be-decided-but-definitely-not-Pearl Savannah Sloan it is. I like it.”   
  
“Me too. And I’ll be okay, Mark. I’m glad you’re here with me, and right now I’m…I’m okay- _ish_. But no hug and roll tonight though, okay?”   
  
He brushes his lips to her temple. “No hug and roll, I promise.”   
  
\------


	17. You and Me and the Moon

**Chapter 17. You and Me and the Moon**  
  
Mark steps into the bathroom and blinks when heavy steam from the running shower whispers past his face. He cocks his head when he observes something odd, and walks over to the shower door, pulling it open and throwing Addison a questioning look from where she is seated on the shower bench.   
  
“You okay?”  
  
“Hey,” she responds, nodding, but shifting towards the wall. “All good. Just taking a break.”  
  
“Are you…mad at me?”  
  
“No, not at all,” she peers back at him over her shoulder. There have definitely been a few times lately where she has been grumpy for no reason other than stupid hormones (she does her best not to take this out on her boyfriend), but there is nothing Mark has done to irritate her, and although she can’t be certain, she doesn’t think she hit him with _resting bitch face_ just now. “Why?” She asks.  
  
“Because when I said hello to you, you angled your body away from me in a cartoon-ish fast kind of way. And now you’re facing the wall.”  
  
“It’s not because I’m angry at you, Mark.”  
  
He knows the reason then, but asks the question anyway. “Are you self-conscious?”  
  
“Yeah. Because I’m almost six months pregnant. I have stretch marks and an unsightly linea nigra – it’s a lot uglier when you see it on yourself rather than patients. My feet and legs are blotchy. We have a work holiday party in a week and every maternity dress I’ve tried on lately just looks awful on me. And yeah, yeah – I know you think I’m beautiful and this is how I’m supposed to look since I’m cooking a baby and it’s the miracle of life and all that jazz, but it still…” she shakes her head and glances down at her feet (her _blotchy_ feet).  
  
“I _do_ think you’re beautiful, Addison, but I’m sorry that that’s not how you feel right now though.”  
  
“It’s okay,” she offers him a resigned smile. “I’m having a moment because I don’t feel attractive, so I’m just going to sulk and feel sorry for myself, but I’ll get up in a minute and put a stupid smile on my face. Don’t turn the water off though. I haven’t washed my hair yet.”  
  
Mark offers a nod and proceeds to strip his clothes off, and once he’s naked, goes to grab her bottle of shampoo.  
  
“Oh. Thank you,” Addison says, twisting towards him, even though she _hates_ her body at the moment. She holds her hand out for the shampoo, but Mark shakes his head.  
  
“I got it. Close your eyes, please,” he murmurs, squeezing a creamy dollop onto his palm. Mark moves his fingers through her hair, gently grazing her scalp. A happy sigh escapes her parted lips.  
  
“You’re washing my hair,” Addison acknowledges softly, heart melting from the tenderness of this action.  
  
“I am,” he says. Once he’s built up a good amount of lather, he tells her to open her eyes. He helps her to her feet and walks her over to the spray of water. Addison lets her eyes slip closed again, smiling gratefully as Mark stands behind her and helps rinse out her hair by tipping her chin up and holding his other hand up to her forehead to keep the shampoo out of her eyes. The remaining traces of shampoo slither from her hair and down to the cool tiles. She whispers a _thank you_ that is just barely audible.  
  
“No problem. Hey, Ad?”  
  
“Hmm?”  
  
“Just so you know, you look really, really great everywhere, but from where I’m currently standing, your ass is incredible,” he murmurs, running a hand over her backside to emphasize the point.   
  
She giggles. “Thank you, Mark,” she says, inhaling sharply when he suddenly molds his hands around her hips and starts kissing her neck.   
  
“And if you’re in the mood for it,” he murmurs before moving his tongue along the same patch of skin, “there are a lot of things I’d be happy to do with you right now to make you feel more attractive. Because you _are_ attractive.”  
  
Addison shifts her head to the side to give him more access, and he reciprocates by kissing a spot right behind her ear that always gets her hot. “Yeah?” she asks throatily, reaching behind her to briefly stroke the back of Mark’s neck appreciatively.  
  
“Mm-hmm. Wildly attractive. And desirable. You can feel that, right, Addison?” It takes her a minute to find her voice, because when Mark gets like _this_ , the way he says her name is so sexy to her that thinking becomes difficult and everything in her goes weak. She feels her knees buckle a little, but his arms tighten around her waist in response to keep her steady.  
  
“It would be kind of hard not to,” she smirks, slinking her fingertips over his length, not that confirmation is really needed.   
  
Mark groans into her damp skin. “Hard being the operative word here. You feel so good and just the thought of you drives me fucking crazy.”  
  
“There’s no way shower sex is a possibility anymore. I’m not…” she gasps, finding her words broken apart when he slides his hands up to cup her breasts and trace his thumbs over her nipples. “Mm, Mark…not that I’m doubting your abilities, but there’s no way I have the energy to stand up for that long. And definitely not if you…oh, God…keep doing what you’re doing.”  
  
“Let’s dry off then. We’ll go back in the bedroom and get you more comfortable. I have a few ideas we can work through.”  
  
\------  
  
“Hey,” Addison whispers the next morning, fighting off a yawn and reaching out to rub Mark’s shoulder, slowly rousing him. “Do you want to feel something?” She asks when it seems like Mark is mostly awake, even though he has not opened his eyes yet.  
  
This works, naturally. “Always,” he says, eyes flapping open.  
  
“No, not that, although I kind of set myself up for that one. You did plenty of feeling last night as it was though. Give me your hand.”  
  
“That’s…” Mark’s eyes widen when after a few seconds of holding his hand steady against the left side of her stomach, he feels something flick against his palm. “Addison, that’s a _kick_. She’s kicking.”  
  
Addison smiles in response. “Yeah, she started a few minutes ago. I knew it would _finally_ be enough for you to feel it.”  
  
“Can you make her do it again?” Mark asks when he can’t feel any additional movement.  
  
“Not really how it works, but I’ll try. Pickle, could you please do your father the honor of kicking again?” Addison pauses, and feels nothing. “Yeah, seems about right with the not listening. A Montgomery and a Sloan through and through. Well, I’m sure if you just give it a bit more – _oh_. Spoke too soon. Now she’s just messing with us. That’s pure Sloan right there.”  
  
“Hi, Pickle,” Mark laughs, and she realizes he probably did not hear her last comment, because surely he would have at least _something_ to say in response if he had. “Hi, baby girl.”  
  
“You’re so cute.”  
  
“Aw, come on,” he glances up and arranges his face into a pout. “Can’t you use a more masculine word to describe me?”  
  
Addison shakes her head. “Not in this instance, because you’re _cute_ with our daughter.”  
  
“Fine, I’ll allow it. Hey, Addison…” he glances up, expression turning serious. “Will she…will she know me?”  
  
“What do you mean?”  
  
“I know we’re basically at the point where Pickle can listen and react to sounds outside the womb. So if she hears my voice and I talk to her enough, will she know me when she’s born? I read that she’ll know your voice immediately, so she’ll know you right away, but she won’t see all that well or recognize faces in the first few weeks…so I guess I just wanted to know if she’ll know me when I hold her. It’s kind of a weird question, I know.”  
  
“It’s not weird at all, Mark,” she reaches out to run her thumb along the stubble shading his jawline. Addison holds off on dubbing another thing of his as cute when she responds. “That’s incredibly sweet and makes me want to cry because my hormones are firing on all six cylinders at the moment, but yes, Pickle will know you. She’s already forming a connection to you because you rub my stomach and talk to her, so yeah, when you hold her in your arms for the first time and say hello to her after I’ve evicted her from my uterus, she’ll know you. I have no _doubt_ that she’ll know right away that you’ll be the guy to love her and keep her safe. And I can’t think of a better person to give Pickle her first cuddle than you, just so you know.”   
  
“Thanks, Addison,” he says quietly, taking his hand off her stomach in order to pull her closer. So much of this is scary and new. He was not raised by parents who taught him how to be a caregiver. His own father is not a particularly good one. He had never even held an infant until he sheepishly shared this information with Addison recently; she then took him to the hospital nursery and placed a newborn in his arms, assuring him that he would not drop or break the baby (later she told him he was a natural, and whether it was true or not, it did wonders to lift his spirits). And although Mark is reading whatever he can and asking Addison questions as they come to mind, there is still so, _so_ much he doesn’t know about infant care and development, and the sheer amount of baby products out there is terrifying.   
  
When he looks at Addison though, it is usually enough for him to remind himself that he _can_ do this. That they can do this. And that they’ll learn as they go.   
  
\------  
  
“Addison Montgomery-Not-Shepherd.”  
  
“Hi Nancy,” Addison says in response, feeling a giggle climb up her throat because of the way her (former) sister-in-law addressed her. She has been wanting to make this call for a long time now, and after a bit more encouragement from Mark, finally selected a weekend afternoon to go through with it. “I’m so glad you answered.”  
  
“Of course! I’m glad you _called_. I’ve thought about calling or texting you so many times over the past few months, but, well…”  
  
“It’s better etiquette for the cheater to be the one to initiate contact.”  
  
“Seems like we read the same article in _Ladies’ Home Journal_ then,” Nancy jokes. “So you read that one, but apparently skipped the one all those years ago about the proper way to cook a turkey.”  
  
“That was way too last minute to expect me to figure out how to handle a Thanksgiving turkey by myself and I _did_ say sorry more than once about the salmonella poisoning, you know.”  
  
Nancy laughs. “I know, I’m just kidding. Plus it worked out for Derek coming to the rescue with the hot dogs – you know he likes to play the hero. But anyway, how are you? And how’s the baby? Oh my gosh, will you _Stop. Doing. That_. Sorry, Addie – Mom is with me and she won’t stop poking me. Do you want to say hi to her too?”  
  
Addison swallows a lump that immediately rises in her throat. “Oh. I – I do. I would love to. Only if she wants to say hello to me though. I don’t want her to feel like she has to.”  
  
“She wants to. Hang on, I’m gonna put you on speaker so we can both talk to you.”  
  
“Addison?”  
  
“Hi, Mom – Carolyn. How…how are you?”  
  
There is a slight tongue cluck that pops through the phone. “I’d be better if you felt like you could still call me Mom. Because you can, you know.”  
  
“Oh,” Addison says, immediately dissolving in tears. “About…about what happened though. I’m so sorry. I’m so, _so_ sorry. I – I didn’t mean to -”  
  
“I know. It’s okay, sweetheart. You don’t have to explain. Mark told me.”  
  
“You have tissues there, right?” Nancy asks.   
  
“Yes. They’re basically strapped to my hip on a holster these days. And Mark just handed me one. He probably knew this was going to happen.”  
  
“Oh he’s there? Hey, loser!”  
  
“Hi Nancypants. I’m on my way out the door, but it’s nice to hear your voice. And hi again, Carolyn,” Mark says when Addison hands him her phone. He shares a few more words with the Shepherd women before he says goodbye. Then he drops a kiss on top of Addison’s head and heads into the kitchen to give her some privacy – definitely not _on the way out the door_ , but he had sat next to Addison at her request just to make sure she was okay and did not leave until she gave him a nod and a grateful smile.  
  
“Ugh, I remember all those damn hormones though, so I totally sympathize,” Nancy continues. “I was actually fine with the girls, but I was a complete basket case when I was pregnant with Brooks. It was a rough nine months for John, to say the least.”  
  
“It’s never easy. I was a little emotional during each pregnancy as well, mostly in the third trimester, especially with Amelia,” Carolyn adds.  
  
“With good reason though,” Nancy quips.  
  
Addison starts to laugh. “Oh come on, be nice to your baby sis.”   
  
“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Nancy replies with a tone of exasperation, and Addison can picture the arm cross and sassy eye roll. “She’s a little neuro goddess now, so she’s mostly got it together. So, Addison – Derek said that it’s a girl?”  
  
Addison thinks about this for a moment, a frisson of wonder passing through her. She does not remember telling Derek the sex – and actually, the baby did not come up at all when they spoke after Judith’s funeral. She knows then that Savvy or Weiss must have told him, but it is doubtful either one would have _volunteered_ that information, so Derek must have asked. A small feeling of hope soars through her at the thought that, just for a moment, Derek cared enough to ask. Maybe the idea they can eventually find their way back to a friendship is not too unreasonable.  
  
“Yeah, it is. We expect her to grace us with her presence in early April.”  
  
“Awesome. We’ll get to meet her when she’s earth-side, right?”  
  
“Yes. I would really, really love that,” Addison replies, grinning widely. “It would mean a lot to both of us.”  
  
\------  
  
“There’s no getting around this so I’m just going to have to lose some man points and say it. It’s all so… _cute_ ,” Mark says, looking around Pickle’s room with a sense of accomplishment. It took about a week, and there is more to do, but they have made significant progress. Three walls have been painted a light, smoky gray, and the fourth wall – which the crib has been positioned against – has been covered with a white, semi-gloss wallpaper with shiny silver polka dots. In addition to the crib, they have acquired a slew of wall décor, some fabric storage cubes, and an ivory rug with a subtle trellis pattern.  
  
“So we still need…a dresser with a changing pad,” he indicates the blank space by the window with the new white curtains with pop-pom appliques where Addison has suggested (decided) the dresser will go. “And baby clothes and…something for those books, obviously?” He points to a corner of the room where an alarming number of books have been haphazardly stacked.  
  
“Yes, definitely a bookshelf or storage area. And a rocking chair. Those are the big ticket _room_ items, but then of course we’ll need an infant car seat, a stroller, a baby bathtub, a baby monitor, a bassinet to put by our bed, and like a million other things…and I’m going to stop talking now, otherwise it’ll stress me out. We have plenty of time.”  
  
“We do. Don’t worry,” Mark goes to reach for her hand, but she strides forward before he can, taking a closer look at the wallpaper. “What?” He asks. “Did I mess it up?”  
  
“No. It’s perfect. You lined the wallpaper with the exact sort of freakish precision I’d expect from a surgeon, especially one who is paid to make things beautiful. I’m just looking because it’s so cute…man, we really need to get more creative with our vocabulary lately. Hey though, maybe I’ll select a dot I can focus on for when I’m having a panic attack because the baby won’t stop screaming. Oh, come on,” Addison walks back over to him and kisses his cheek. “Really? Not even a courtesy chuckle? We need to be able to have a sense of humor.”  
  
“I guess so,” he offers a small smile. “So what else are we putting on this side?” He gestures towards something Addison keeps referring to as a “gallery wall” (a term he had never heard of before, but then he had also never heard the words _diaper genie_ , _sleep sack,_ and _breast milk storage bags_ until recently, so there are obviously plenty of home and baby-related things he needs to learn about). They have hung up four prints of animals sitting on fluffy clouds (an elephant, a giraffe, a koala bear, and a lion); a dark purple garland (not _aubergine_ though; he asked) that has all the phases of the moon, a small “it’s okay” canvas banner (they joked that it’s more for them than it is for Pickle); a small shelf they haven’t decided what to put on yet; and a cute (again with the _cute_ ) wall print Mark found online with tiny moons and stars that says “We love you to the moon and back” which was approved for purchase (Mark is able to make suggestions and contributions, but it quickly became clear Addison is calling the shots; luckily he doesn’t really mind).  
  
“I have a few ideas. I’d like to get a little round mirror, put up one of her ultrasound pictures, and definitely her handprints and footprints once she’s here – they have little kits for that. Oh, but hang on. One more thing. Come with me,” Addison tips her head towards the nursery door. “I got you something.”  
  
“You got _me_ something?” He asks, following her down the hallway.  
  
“Well, it’s for her room, but I did get it for _you_ ,” she reaches into the mysterious cavern that Mark knows to be the inside of her purse and hands him a carved plywood sign with the Yankees logo in navy blue.  
  
“I love it,” Mark grins widely. “We – well, me mostly – get to raise a little Yankees fan. Thank you.”  
  
“You’re very welcome. Don’t hang it yet though. I want to get a few other things first and then figure out the best spots for them all.”  
  
“Sure, but you really didn’t need to tell me that. You know I don’t do anything unless I have your express permission.”  
  
“Which is very smart of you.”


	18. Like Dreaming of Angels

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was initially trying to be vague about the year this is set in, but I definitely dropped a T-Swift Reputation album reference in this one, and there are several more to come along the way. Embrace the vagueness/maybe 2020 minus a worldwide pandemic-ness. After all, it's not like Shonda's timelines ever make sense. :)

**Chapter 18. Like Dreaming of Angels**  
  
Strains of sunlight peek out behind thin, rolling clouds as they traipse through Central Park, footprints crunching over a sparkling, fresh blanket of snow. While Mark does not particularly _dislike_ this time of year, it is Addison’s _favorite_ , which is why, instead of heading home after doing some Christmas shopping, she is dragging him somewhere near Sheep Meadow first so she can make a snow angel. It is hard to argue with her when she is like this though; she loves this time of year so much. Mark remembers when Addison and Derek were planning their wedding, she had wanted a winter wedding so badly, but her mother convinced her to go with a spring one instead. He shakes this thought away as snow continues to fall softly around them.  
  
“I’m seriously not going to lose my balance. Are you going to hang on to me like this the entire time?” Addison whines in reference to the unrelenting grip he has on one of her arms. Mark wants to tell her that she is lucky it is just _one_ arm he is holding as they wander through the snow because he would certainly find a way to hold both if he was not also holding a giant lamb’s wool blanket she wanted to buy for Carolyn.  
  
“Yep,” he answers. “Am I squeezing too tight?”   
  
“No, but I’m sure there’ll be a mark-from-Mark there anyway,” she shakes her head when he glances over. “No, really – it’s not too tight. But I do have fair skin, so there’s always a chance the smallest contact will lead to a bruise that’s going to end up looking like a paint-by-numbers kit on my skin anyway.”  
  
“We can consider it payback for the bruise on my shoulder. From your _teeth_.”  
  
“I didn’t _mean_ to bite you the other night.”  
  
“It’s okay. I actually took it as a compliment – a sexual compliment, at least. God, it’s cold out here. I dislike a lot of things about this, you know.”  
  
“But you don’t dislike _me_ ,” Addison beams up at him. Her eyes are sparkling, snow is braiding through the strands of hair her beanie is not protecting, and she just looks so _pretty_ and perfect with snow spiraling around her. Mark smiles back, and the sentimentalist in him (or sentimentalism just towards her, really) knows he will stay out here as long as Addison wants. Snow feathered on sagging tree branches, colorful motion lights that skate in grapevine patterns along roof lines, windowpanes spun like lace from the wind and snow catching to them, and the simple beauty of seeing the pearly plumes of one’s own breath when stepping outside to watch the snow fall – it’s all just enchanting to her. And honestly, like when they decorated a small Christmas tree the other night with white lights and a bunch of ornaments she had purchased, it is hard for Mark not to get caught up in her enthusiasm.  
  
“No, but I’m definitely going to feel some _mild_ animosity towards you when we get back home and you want to cuddle…your feet are going to be like icicles because you won’t wear socks to bed.”  
  
“Just hug and roll me then when I fall asleep.”  
  
“I’ll try, but it’s getting harder to – never mind…” Mark winces and trails off, knowing that telling Addison she’s not quite as easy to roll at twenty-four weeks will not be well-received. She indeed shoots him a look, but it appears playful in nature.  
  
“Just for that,” Addison says, “I get to throw a snowball at you and you aren’t allowed to run or try to shield yourself.”  
  
“Yeah, that seems fair.”  
  
\------  
  
Addison’s arms and legs sweep through the snow powder, and she glances over at Mark, who is also making a snow angel (at her request). He grins back, movements a little jerky.   
  
“You’re terrible at this,” she observes. “Why are you so uncoordinated?”  
  
Mark laughs. “Apparently you’ve had more practice,” he decides, and reaches a hand out to poke her gently through her down coat. The plastic surgeon in him knows his angel is sloppy-looking, but he reasons it will get messed up anyway; he will have to help Addison to her feet so her angel can remain pristine, and because, although he wouldn’t dare say it out loud (the revenge snowball to his stomach was enough), there’s a good chance she can no longer pull herself up from a flat position.  
  
“I guess so,” Addison replies. “But hey, don’t poke my ribs again or I might pee myself. Your daughter thinks it’s fun to put pressure on my bladder, so I can’t be trusted to control myself right now.”  
  
“The snow is going to get dirty anyway,” he says with a grin. “Hey, Addie…” he hastily changes the subject. “Are you happy?”  
  
“Yeah. I’m really happy,” she extends her hand to grab his, even though she has risked ruining her creation. “Why? Do I not look like it?”  
  
“No, you do. I just know this was, like, your season with Derek, so I just…I wanted to make sure you were okay. And that you’re happy.”   
  
Addison gives his hand a comforting squeeze in response. “That’s sweet of you to ask, but yes, I’m happy, and yes, I’m okay. Plus now it’s my season with _you_. Christmas makes you want to be with people you love. And you, Mark Everett Sloan, are what I love the most, except for maybe peanut butter at the moment. Now help me stand up so we can go home and I can ruin your evening with my cold feet.”   
  
\------  
  
Addison receives a call from Derek a few days before Christmas. She accepts the call nervously. Their last conversation had gone well, but she is understandably a bit on edge, given that not all their interactions since that fateful day in June could be considered pleasant.   
  
“Happy holidays,” Derek replies warmly after she says hello.  
  
She wrinkles her eyebrows in confusion, and cannot help herself when she asks, “What’s that supposed to mean?”  
  
“It’s a greeting. Used in civilized cultures by their civilized inhabitants.”  
  
“We’re, uh, being mature about this,” Addison ventures cautiously.  
  
“I guess so. I’m trying, at least. This won’t be long, but this isn’t a bad time, is it?”  
  
“No, it’s fine. I’m going shopping with Savvy in a bit, and Mark is out running some errands. Anyway…” she rambles on quickly to cover for the fact that her ex-husband most definitely does not want to hear about his ex-best friend, “I sent off gift cards for our – your – nieces and nephews yesterday. I just put them in holiday cards addressed to your sisters, so that way they can decide if they want to give them the gift cards specifically from Aunt Addie, or just…do something else, I guess. You won’t forget to get them something, right?”  
  
“I won’t,” Derek lets out a soft chuckle. “Once you get divorced, doesn’t that mean your wife is supposed to stop nagging you?”  
  
“Ha. Is Meredith there? Are you acting shiny and happy and good-humored because she’s standing by you, ready to start quoting _Outrageous Acts and Everyday Rebellions_ if you say the wrong thing?”  
  
“She’s not here. And try _Reputation_ , actually.”  
  
“Aha, so it was a Taylor Swift quote. I like this girl, Derek.”  
  
Derek manages another laugh. “As do I, so maybe try not to sleep with her eleven years from now.”   
  
“I’ll do my best,” she replies, trying her hand at a joke mostly because she is not sure what else to say. Thankfully, this elicits some sort of noise of amusement from Derek.   
  
“So I was calling to let you know I’m still planning to come out there in January. Do you maybe want to grab lunch or something? It would either be the third Saturday or Sunday. I’ll be at my mom’s first with the rest of the crew, so I’m sure at least one Shepherd sister will boss her way into coming with me into the city. And if it’s awkward between us, at least we’ll have a buffer.”  
  
“Yes. I’d – I’d like to get lunch with you, and any sisters who force you to take them too.”  
  
“Okay, good. I guess I should let you go. I’ll text when it’s closer to the date. Say hi to Sav for me, and Weiss, too – oh, but wait. Where did you get the kids gift cards to?”  
  
“Amazon.”  
  
“Okay. I’ll do the same.”  
  
“Copycat. Hey, Derek…” she takes a deep breath. “I hope you and Meredith have a really nice Christmas.”  
  
“Thanks, Addison. I hope that you – I hope that you have a nice Christmas too. Take care.”   
  
\------  
  
“Have you finished shopping for Weiss?” Addison asks as she and Savvy stroll through a cheerily-decorated department store.  
  
Savvy shakes her head. “Actually we’re doing something different. No presents. We’re going to Turks and Caicos instead – leaving on the twenty-seventh. It’s been a hell of a year so we decided to treat ourselves to a trip instead. Oh, but I _am_ going to give Weiss application paperwork so we can start the pre-placement adoption process. We’ve been talking about it a lot lately, and obviously it’s been a tough year for us, but…we feel ready.”  
  
“I’m so, so happy for you guys, Sav. And so very sad for me because I was kinda hoping to just copy whatever you were getting for Weiss. I have no idea what to get Mark.”  
  
“Okay,” Savvy says. “Well what have you thought about getting him? Any ideas?”  
  
“Zero ideas.”  
  
“Cool. This will go well then and probably won’t take long at all.”  
  
“Savvy, _don’t_. You know I cry super easily right now. I mean – I got him tickets to a Yankees and Red Sox game in early June. So that’s…something. We decided we would get each other two things each. And I guess it’s kind of an _additional_ present that I’ll be going with him to the game, because you know I think baseball is just so slow and boring. Oh, and you’ll hopefully be on babysitting duty that afternoon, because I don’t know if I’ll want to bring the baby.”   
  
“I’ll check my schedule and get back to you,” Savvy teases.   
  
“It doesn’t help that Derek and I seriously used to get Mark the crappiest gifts. I mean, how many stupid ‘Beer of the Month Club’ subscriptions and Harry & David baskets could one person possibly need?”  
  
“Okay. So Yankees tickets – he’ll love that. And one more thing…how about a watch? He’s a good dresser and he usually wears a watch, right? What about one of those black Bulova ones? And just to help you relax, because it’s not as fun to mess with you when you’re on the verge of tears, price-wise one of those watches is comparable to something he got for you.”  
  
“He probably would like a watch. All black and stainless steel is definitely his style. Wait though…you know what he’s getting me?”  
  
“I know _one_ thing he’s getting you,” she glances over at Addison. “And don’t bother – you could drop to your knees and throw a tantrum right here in Saks and I still won’t tell you.”  
  
“I operated on you.”  
  
“So did he, and unfortunately he used that excuse slash manipulation first to swear me to secrecy, so he beat you to the punch on this one. Sorry, babe. Them’s the breaks when you’ve got a Baby Daddy who knows how to outsmart you sometimes.”  
  
\------  
  
Vibrant lights from the nearby Christmas tree bounce on and off their arms as they exchange presents on Christmas Eve after having dinner (always Addison’s preferred day and preferred time of day to give out holiday gifts). Mark is thrilled with both his presents, and she holds off on arguing with him about whether or not it is a good, non-stressful idea to bring a two month old to a baseball game (Mark feels strongly that Pickle should be exposed to the Yankees as early as possible, so to him it is definitely a good idea).  
  
“So, I didn’t wrap either of mine,” Mark murmurs with a sheepish grin.  
  
“I’ve seen how you wrap presents. I’m not offended.”  
  
“So the first one…” he reaches into his pocket to pull out a velvety box. “It’s not an engagement ring, just so you know.”  
  
She smirks. “Say that a little faster next time.”  
  
“I just wanted you to know. Not that I don’t want – I just didn’t want to freak you out. And um, Savvy came with me to help pick this out, so…hopefully you like it.”  
  
“I think I’ll probably have a better idea of whether or not I’ll like if you let me have it,” Addison holds her hand out to accept the box. She pops it open to reveal a diamond cluster ring – nine small, rounded stones set against a thin band. The diamonds sparkle in a way that rivals the brightness of their tree lights. She loves that Mark – with Savvy’s help, of course – went with this particular kind of ring, something more meaningful to her and more delicate and minimalist in style rather than _showy_.  
  
“It’s supposed to be like…a promise ring,” Mark says slowly. “Because I love you and I do want to marry you someday. Um, the two biggest stones are two-point-five millimeters, and the remaining ones are two millimeters – oh wait, except for the ones on the end…those are one point three.”  
  
“It’s beautiful, Mark,” she whispers, fighting back the tightening sensation beginning to prickle in her throat. Addison holds the ring in her palm, gently tracing her finger around the circle of white gold.   
  
“The diamond is also because of Pickle. I wanted to get you a ring that has her birthstone,” he continues. “I knew I would be rolling the dice since her due date is in early April, but then what do you know, a diamond is the birthstone for April. So it worked out pretty well because if she ends up being a late March baby, then at least you still got some diamonds out of this. Do you…do you like it?”  
  
Addison nods in response, lips quivering as she starts to dab at the skin beneath her eyes.  
  
“These are hormonally happy tears, right? Because otherwise I’m going to have to have some words with your best friend.”  
  
“They’re happy tears,” Addison confirms. She scoots closer to Mark so that he can give her a hug.  
  
“Okay, good. Savvy lives to see another day. And you can wear it on whichever hand you want, Addie, and you definitely don’t even have to wear it if you don’t want to. Like, I know this is kind of a _step_.”  
  
“I want to wear it. Realistically I won’t be _able_ to for much longer since my fingers are going to swell like balloons towards the end of the pregnancy, but…” Addison smiles, guiding the ring on her finger, left hand and ring finger – she does not need to think that part over. “Hey. It fits perfectly.”  
  
“That’s mostly thanks to Savvy.”  
  
Addison tips her head up to brush her lips to his jaw. “You were so nervous to give me this,” she giggles.   
  
“A little bit.”  
  
“It selfishly makes me happy to see that, because it’s very _not_ you.”  
  
“Yeah. I’m sure I was building it up too much in my head, but gifts are kind of a bigger deal when you’re in love, I guess,” Mark shrugs, looking down at her. She smiles back happily. “And okay, now for you next one,” he gives her shoulder a slight nudge to get her to sit back a bit, and then reaches into his pocket again.  
  
Addison tips her head, in desperate need of clarity when he places a key in her hand. “I know I have the occasional ‘pregnancy brain’ moment these days, but I didn’t lose my key to the apartment, you know.”  
  
“I’m a little concerned your surgeon eyes can’t see how incredibly different this key is from our apartment ones. It’s not for the apartment though, Addison. It’s for the beach house in Cape Cod.”  
  
“You…oh my God. Wait, did you _buy_ it?”  
  
“It’ll be a few more weeks before it’s officially ours and I doubt the Tennises will get their stuff out of there anytime soon, but yes, I bought it. For us.”  
  
A fresh gush of tears spill down her cheeks. “Oh. Oh.”  
  
“I’m sorry I’m making you cry again,” he murmurs, pulling her closer for another hug.  
  
“I’m making myself cry. I feel like I should cut you a check for half though?”  
  
“That kind of defeats the purpose of it being a present. Plus, if you think about it, I just gave you a _key_. That’s it.”  
  
“There are a lot of holes in that logic, Mark Sloan.”  
  
“I have plenty of money, Addison. I promise this didn’t cause detrimental damage to my finances. I wanted to get it for you though, because you loved it there so much…we both did. So really, this is for _us_. Pickle, too. Just think: you’ll get to decorate another room for the baby, and I’ll get to find minor ways to help as long as they’re approved in advance by you.”  
  
Addison smiles, cuddling deeper into his chest. “That’s true. I love, love, _love_ her room here, but the zoo animals theme was definitely the runner-up. Oh, or we could be super cheesy and go with a nautical theme.”  
  
“Well, we are cheesy people sometimes.”  
  
“Yes, we do seem to bring that out in one another. Merry-almost-Christmas, Mark.”  
  
“Merry-almost-Christmas, Addison.”  
  
\------


	19. When the Cold Comes

**Chapter 19. When the Cold Comes**  
  
“You know, I looked at the food book this morning before we left and she’s the size of an eggplant now. I honest to God don’t even know if I’ve ever had an eggplant before.”  
  
“Yes, you have,” Addison rolls her eyes. “Eggplant Parmesan? Eggplant Rollatini? And those are just bigger ones – you can do a lot with eggplants. I guess I should just be happy that you’re able to think about them as a food rather than just as a dirty emoji.”  
  
Mark smirks in response. “I meant that I don’t think I’ve ever had an eggplant as an _individual_ food before. I’ve never just taken a bite after pulling one off a tree or out of the ground or wherever…I don’t know where they come from. But at any rate, Pickle is now an eggplant.”  
  
“I’m very aware of her size,” Addison swings her legs back-and-forth on the edge of the exam table while they wait for Maggie. “It’s why my back hurts and why my organs feel crowded. Welcome to the third trimester. Maggie will want to see me twice a month. I might try to talk to her though about just –”  
  
“Nope. Twice a month. Even if it means bribing your doctor a lot more often,” he gestures to the untouched vanilla latte near the sink (not a bribe per _se_ , but Addison did offer to bring Dr. Connelly a coffee if the OB would see them for today’s appointment before typical patient hours begin). “And, by the way, you used to _like_ to text me the eggplant emoji, you know.”  
  
“Yeah,” she giggles. “Farewell to Second Trimester Addison. I know she was a lot of fun for you.”  
  
“Hey, you’re always fun. It’s just that the dirty talk and letting me watch you fly solo was a different _kind_ of fun…a kind of fun I’m one-hundred percent okay with continuing to embrace, you know.”  
  
“Ha. We’ll see.”  
  
\------  
  
Mark waits outside Addison’s office, taking a glance at his watch to see if it has reached their agreed-upon meeting time. She eventually becomes visible at the end of the hallway, offering him a cute little wave. The salmon scrubs and combed back look of her hair confirm she recently got out of the OR. Mark manages a smile in response to the wave, but feels his fingers tighten uneasily around the phone in his pocket.  
  
“Hey,” she says when she reaches him. “Surgery went longer than expected,” she digs into her scrub pocket and holds out Mark’s cell phone. They had been in a rush to get back to Bellevue after their appointment, so things were a bit more chaotic than usual this morning, but she still is not clear how they managed to pull off this switch. “I have something of yours – and I’m hoping you have something of mine. The main clue was the notifications,” she adds when Mark takes his phone back. “Lots of New York Giants and NCAA rankings alerts. Definitely not my phone.”  
  
“Yeah. I have yours. There’s, um…” he hesitates before reaching into the pocket still harboring the phone that does not belong to him. “You have a text from Derek. It took me a second to realize this was your phone – despite the girly phone case – so I thought it was mine and…I read what was on the lock screen. He…he wants to have lunch with you.”   
  
Addison feels her heart sink; it occurs to her that Mark probably thought for a fleeting, hopeful moment that Derek was texting _him_. And then nerves coil through her stomach. She braces herself, knowing that this will not be a pleasant conversation, and the fact that they have to have it _this_ way is entirely her doing (or lack of doing).  
  
“Oh,” she says simply, not sure how else to start.   
  
“It also said…Derek also said it was nice to talk to you the other day,” Mark drops the phone in her outstretched hand. “You can’t be mad at me for looking,” he says edgily, although she has made no such accusation.  
  
She shakes her head. “I’m not.”  
  
“But _I_ get to be mad because –”  
  
Addison loops her arm through his, steering him into her office and shoving the door closed behind them. “Keep your voice down, please,” she exhales tensely. She moves towards the window, putting a few feet between them.  
  
“You’re not going,” he says, and she twists around quickly at this.  
  
“Excuse me?”  
  
“Look, I just…why the hell didn’t you tell me? He _called_ you, Addison. Recently. I don’t keep anything from you. I think it’s fair to expect you to extend the same courtesy to me. What else has happened? The phone call and suggestion for lunch didn’t come out of nowhere.”  
  
“No, it didn’t,” she meets his eyes with reluctance, but is able to use her words to explain as best and as honestly as she can a bit more about the interaction she had with Derek at Savvy and Weiss’s home, and then the call before Christmas.  
  
Mark crosses his arms. Silence lingers for a moment, and then he asks, “What else?”  
  
“That’s it.”  
  
“Really?”  
  
She raises her eyebrows at the defiance in his tone. “ _Really_.”  
  
“Were you even going to tell me about getting lunch with him?”  
  
“ _Yes_.”   
  
Mark notices how she bristles at this question, but he cannot help himself, much in the same way he cannot help himself from flinging the next one: “How can I be sure?” He spits the words out. Addison’s eyebrows climb higher still.   
  
“I would like to think that you _trust_ me enough to be sure, Mark.”  
  
“I would like to think that too, _Addison_ , but honestly, it doesn’t fucking seem like it. We have to talk about this. I know I can’t tell you what to do, but we’re a couple and we have to be able to compromise on things. I don’t think it’s a good idea to get lunch with him. And it’s not just about us. We have a _kid_ to think about here.”  
  
“What’s that supposed to mean?”  
  
“I just mean that if you get upset…”  
  
“Oh, so now I can’t take care of myself or my daughter?”  
  
“Addison…” his voice becomes gravelly as it softens. “Sometimes you _can’t_ ,” he says, and the look of hurt that washes over her face makes his stomach jolt in remorse. Mark instantly feels horrible.  
  
“You’re seriously throwing the panic attacks in my face?” Addison asks, voice cracking and eyes starting to fill with tears. She shakes her head though, moving back a step when Mark extends a hand to offer comfort.   
  
“Don’t touch me.” She wipes at a single, traitorous tear that escaped, being careful not to ruin her makeup.   
  
“I won’t – sorry. And I’m sorry if…look, I’m not trying to imply it’s your fault or that you don’t have a handle on this, but we both know the anxiety is essentially Derek- _induced_ ,” Mark attempts to slow his breathing down again, reaching for any last shreds of conversational levelheadedness that are quickly exiting stage left. “Maybe we -”  
  
“I’ll be _fine_ , Mark. You’re just going to have to trust me.”  
  
“Yeah, because you’ve done a banner job of being trustworthy so far when it comes to Derek.”  
  
“Fuck you,” she responds quietly, but the words explode against him anyway.  
  
“No, fuck -” Mark stops and shakes his head. “This is ridiculous. We’re not solving anything by snapping at each other. Let’s just…let’s just talk about it at home, okay? But, please don’t call Derek back by yourself…please?”  
  
“Don’t tell me what to do.”  
  
Mark opens the door to leave, throwing her a defeated look as he does. “Fine, forget it. Do what you want, Addison. You always do. I’ll see you back here at six.”  
  
\------  
  
Addison realizes that for this particular moment, she misses alcohol more for the dramatics than its taste; the atmosphere of this impromptu girls-night-in with Savvy (it worked out that Weiss was out of town) would be so much more fitting if she could be getting drunk. Instead, she wonders if it’s even right to consider this an “impromptu” gathering. _Both_ women didn’t decide to get together last minute; Addison made the decision for them when she showed up on Savvy’s doorstep at 5:48 PM after hailing a cab in front of the hospital, after the following text exchange with Mark, who had expected to see her at six when they would leave the hospital together to head home:   
  
_I’m at Savvy’s. I’m going to stay here tonight. Need a minute to cool off._  
  
_Addison please come home. Or I can come get you???_  
  
_No. We can talk tomorrow._  
  
Addison glances back at her phone to confirm there are no unread text messages and no new missed calls. There were a lot of attempted calls – eleven, if she is recalling correctly. None in the past two hours though. Around seven o’clock, Mark sent another text, clearly waving a white flag for the night: _If you want to come home sooner just let me know and I’ll come get you. Doesn’t matter what time. I love you, Addison._  
  
“Hey,” Savvy says when she comes back into the living room with two refilled glasses of water (Addison told Savvy that if she does not want to drink for both of them, she should at least drink for _herself_ , but the blonde uncharacteristically eschewed this suggestion). “Just so you know…” she sits down next to Addison, delicately setting the glasses on the coffee table. “Mark called me while I was getting more not-wine.”  
  
Addison lets out a disgruntled huff of air. “I’m sorry to put you in this position Sav, because I appreciate you letting me crash with you and I appreciate that you let me eat all of your peanut butter pretzel bites, but I hope you didn’t make any promises to Mark about trying to talk me into going home.”  
  
“He didn’t ask me to talk you into going back home. Not why he called. Clearly he knows your stubborn, pretzel-hogging ass has no plans to blink first.”  
  
“Then what did he want?”  
  
“To make sure you’re _okay_. And he gave me some…instructions. It’s overcast, and if the weather keeps going the way it looks like it’s going to, I’m supposed to ask you questions. Answers in increments of five. Not sure why the number matters, but he was very specific about that.”  
  
“Oh,” Addison says quietly. “He, um…he told you?”  
  
“Yes, but I wish _you_ had. Addie, why didn’t you tell me how hard this has been for you? And that stormy weather is a trigger…” Savvy gets distracted for a moment, lost in thought. “Oh, _Jesus Christ_ , we have one of those stupid waterfall fountains in the guest room. I told Weiss it was a tacky purchase, but he thought it was ‘cool’ and makes us ‘fancy.’ I’ll turn it off before you go in there.”   
  
Addison shakes her head. “The fountain won’t bother me. It’s okay. And I didn’t tell you because it’s kind of embarrassing.”  
  
“No it isn’t. Plus, come _on_. You’ve taken photos of my bare boobs and you cut my body open and physically removed my uterus and ovaries. I’ve also told you in great detail what it’s like to have sex again after a surgery like that. We can share tough stuff without feeling shame. I’m sorry that happened to you that night with Derek though, and I’m sorry it hasn’t been easy in the aftermath.”   
  
“It’s okay. It won’t be like this forever. Thank you though.”  
  
“Can I do a question and answer thing now?”  
  
“I’m okay, but it sounds like you want to anyway.”   
  
“I do,” Savvy confirms. “I’ll even answer it for you. Who’s in the wrong in this Mark-Addison spat? The answer is: you, you, you, you, you, and also you.”   
  
“That was six.”  
  
“You’re lucky I didn’t say it more. Addie, I love you, and if you want to stay you know I’d love to have you, but you’re being a liiiiittle immature about this. I’m sure there are things Mark could have handled better, but he’s right to be annoyed with you for not being honest, and he’s also right to have concerns about you spending time with Derek. If you want to reason with him about why you think having lunch with Derek will be okay, then fine, but you need to at least hear his side all the way through. It’s obvious he just doesn’t want to see you upset or get hurt.”   
  
“Yeah, I know. And I know…I know I’m the bad guy for this one. I need to apologize and make things right.”   
  
“Want me to drive you back there? I don’t mind, Addie. He really did sound worried. And not to put any pressure on you, but I _did_ choose to stay sober tonight in case I needed to take you anywhere.”  
  
Addison grins weakly. “Yes. If you could, that would be great. I’m sure you’re kinda relieved to see me go, but I’m sorry for ruining our sleepover, Sav.”  
  
“It’s okay. I’m glad you came, but I’m also glad you want to go home and handle this like a grownup.”  
  
“And I’m sorry about the pretzels.”  
  
Savvy loops an arm over her friend’s shoulders. “For that one I’m actually going to need a few more minutes before I can forgive you.”  
  
\------  
  
_Hey_ , she texts, fingertips tapping quickly against the screen when Savvy pulls away from the curb. _Sav is driving me back. You’re the first and only stop on my Apology Tour. I’ll see you soon. I love you, Mark. ♥_  
  
His response makes her phone vibrate seconds later, enough for Addison to know his phone probably has not left his hand all evening. _Ok. See you soon. And I love you too. Door is unlocked. ♥_  
  
Addison hesitates when she reaches their floor. She knows the apartment door is unlocked, and she knows it’s _her_ home too, but it just seems more polite to wait to be granted entrance, given the circumstances. Her hand trembles when she raps her knuckles on the door. It opens swiftly, and she realizes Mark was probably pacing just inside the entrance, and maybe even expected she might be silly enough to knock. Addison’s breath catches in her throat when she sees the pure relief hanging in his eyes.   
  
“Hi,” she squeaks out, not able to keep it together for more than a moment because of the overwhelming _love_ in that look. “Mark, I’m so…I’m so sorry…” she dissolves into tears, sobs anxious and pitchy as she crosses the threshold.   
  
“It’s okay,” Mark responds, drawing her into his arms and nudging the door closed with his foot. “Hey, hey – don’t cry. It’s okay. I’m just glad you’re here. Let’s go sit down.”  
  
“I’m sorry,” she attempts again when they sit on the couch and Mark pulls her into his lap. A heavier sob rushes up her throat. “Mark, I’m so –”  
  
“Wait,” he cuts in. “Just…give yourself a minute first. For me. Please?” He holds the request and question there until she offers a resigned nod. “We both need to just take a few slow breaths.” Addison nods again, even though it is clear he is only saying this for her benefit; the rise and fall of his chest is perfectly ordinary. Still though, she cuddles closer and finds solace when his hand alternates between stroking her jawbone and playing lightly with the hair tucked behind her ear.   
  
“Feels nice,” Addison mumbles after a few minutes. She leans forward to press a warm, appreciative kiss to his neck, and then forces herself to slide out of Mark’s lap, knowing if she stays like this much longer she’ll end up falling asleep. She offers Mark a shy smile, and forgets to maintain any sort of dignity when she rubs her fists over her scrunched eyes. “Oh, shit,” she says, pulling her hands back to find them stippled with droplets of mascara. “Do I…do I look like a raccoon?”  
  
“Kinda,” he attempts to help her wipe away some of the black tears now beaded under her eyes. “But a cute one.”  
  
“I doubt that’s true, but thanks for saying so. Mark, I _am_ sorry though. I wasn’t honest. Derek is just an awkward subject for us, for me in particular. But I know I need to work on being more forthcoming, especially when I expect that of you…and I need to get better about talking things through instead of just making executive decisions or running away to my friend’s house like a pissy teenager. I promise I’ll do better. I’m sorry.”   
  
“I know you are, Ad. And I’m sorry, too.”  
  
“I don’t really think there’s anything…” Addison hesitates, not for lack of words, but to concentrate on identifying a more comfortable position. She smiles when Mark helps tuck her legs over his, seeming to understand she wants to be close, but also desperately needs to stretch out in an attempt to catch relief from the sciatica that has been plaguing her. “I don’t think there’s anything for you to be sorry for,” she says once she’s settled again.   
  
“Sure there is,” Mark counters. “I’m sorry for snapping. And I’m sure I could have explained myself better. I just…I just don’t want him to hurt you. That’s why I have concerns about you getting lunch with him and why I don’t want you to call him if I’m not there. I’m not trying to be controlling.”  
  
“You’re not controlling,” she says. “Persistent and stubborn, yes, but controlling, no.” Addison thinks back to the way he looked at her when she walked into the apartment. “No one has ever felt this way about me,” she adds quietly, not entirely sure Mark will know what she means, and truthfully, not entirely sure _she_ knows what she means. She just knows that this is a man who will _come_ if she wants, but will also _wait_ if she wants. The weight of this permanence floors her.   
  
He does not ask her to explain. “I’m just worried, that’s all. I don’t want to see you get hurt again.”  
  
“I know. I understand, Mark. I get why you feel this way and I get where you’re coming from.”  
  
“And I wasn’t trying to throw the panic attacks in your face. But I’m really sorry, because it was clear that that absolutely _gutted_ you when I said it. I’m sorry, Addie. I didn’t mean to say you can’t take care of yourself.”  
  
“But it _is_ true sometimes,” Addison hiccups, shards of despondency filling her voice. “I didn’t want to hear it, but you know it and I know it. There are times I’m terrified and my broken brain is telling me I’ll never be okay again and it feels like I’m dying because I can’t catch my breath and you have to hold me and get me through it. I couldn’t even start _this_ conversation without having to be reminded to do a more adequate job of breathing. If…if I didn’t have you…”  
  
“You do have me though. And I’m not going anywhere, but trust me when I say you would find a way through it if I wasn’t here; I know you would. I was wrong to say that you _can’t_. You’re a fighter and you’re tough as nails, Addison. And you’re going to be a great mom. I shouldn’t have implied you can’t protect Pickle either. I know you can.”   
  
“Thank you, Mark. Now, enough apologizing from you. This one was on _me_. I completely understand why you don’t want me to have lunch with Derek, but you need to know that even if he hurts me, I would be okay because I have you. Maybe we can come up with a ‘safety plan’ or something because I actually _do_ think it’s a good idea to have lunch with him. The ability for me to communicate with him and maybe get to a better place…it _humanizes_ things somehow, after that night. I think we both know I need that. Plus it’s a step – for me, and for you, becoming friends with him again.”   
  
“Well, you at least.”  
  
A guilty look twitches at the corners of her mouth. “I don’t want to try to take some of the heat off myself, but that’s part of the reason why I wasn’t completely honest about all this. Part of what makes Derek an uncomfortable subject for discussion is where things currently stand – or don’t stand – with you two. And I don’t ever want to hurt your feelings, even though going forward I promise I’ll be honest. It’s just that I…I know you miss him.”  
  
A small sound rises through Mark’s clenched teeth at this, something that reminds her of a whimpering, wounded animal. Addison turns in time to see Mark angle his face away, clearly embarrassed by his reaction.   
  
“Oh, Mark,” she hugs him tighter, managing to trap his face against her shoulder. She knows he will not cry, but suspects he is close. At any rate, his pain is palpable and her heart aches for him. “Honey…” she whispers sympathetically, holding a hand to his upper back.  
  
“Hey, that’s what I call you,” he murmurs, shifting a little in her embrace to ensure his words are not muffled into her shoulder.  
  
“There’s nothing in writing that says you’re the only one allowed to use that term of endearment.”  
  
“I’m…I’m okay though,” he clears his throat, cadence becoming more Mark-like again. “I’m okay, Addie.”  
  
“It’s okay for you to be comforted and taken care of sometimes too, you know. And hey, take your time, but when you’re ready, name five vegetables for me. Just give me a quick nod in the meantime to confirm your silence is not indicative of the fact that you _can’t_ name five vegetables.”  
  
Mark laughs softly and manages a nod against her shoulder. He takes about half a minute before he pulls back, feeling more in control of his emotions. He honestly had not expected to have such a strong reaction to Addison acknowledging he misses his friend. “Okay, let’s see. Carrots. Broccoli. Celery. Cucumbers. Lettuce. See? I know my veggies, Addison,” his eyes sparkle with a combination of mischief and defiance. “But I’m for damn sure looking the other way when Pickle balls them up in her napkins to avoid eating them.”  
  
“Fair enough. Okay, five all-time favorite Yankees players.”   
  
“Lou Gehrig. Derek Jeter. Mariano Rivera. Thurman Munson. Don Mattingly.”   
  
“And five girls’ names you like at the moment.”  
  
“Mia. Kate. Olivia. Lauren. And Harper.”  
  
Addison smiles. “Hey, we both like Kate.”  
  
“Yeah, we do. Is it the one? Katherine Savannah Sloan, aka Kate?”  
  
“Definitely a final contender. Let’s wait until she gets here though. I want to see her face first. Now ask me to name five things I love about you, Mark.”  
  
“You don’t have to,” he shrugs. “I really am okay.”  
  
“Ask me anyway. Please.”  
  
“Name five things you love about me.”   
  
“One: you make me so happy. Two: you do everything you can to protect me and make me feel safe. Three: you’re the best present-giver. Four: you make the best grilled cheese sandwiches. And five: you have an incredibly kind, thoughtful heart, which you show every single day just by how much you love me and our daughter.”  
  
“Thank you, Addie,” he pulls her closer to touch her lips softly with his. She kisses him back more urgently, opening her mouth against his and moaning when he holds her closer and slips his tongue against hers.   
  
“You would…” she whispers against his mouth, a little breathless when she pulls back after sharing his heat and running her hands over his chest. She spreads her fingers over where she knows Mark’s heart is. Everything about how he feels for her still moves her. “You would go to the ends of the earth for me.”  
  
“Yeah,” he answers honestly. “I would.”  
  
She takes a deep breath. “I’ll do better. I’ll be transparent about any communication with Derek and make sure we discuss it as a couple,” she pecks him on the cheek and then eases herself off the couch. “Let’s go to bed. We could both use the sleep.”  
  
After they have both washed up for the night and changed into sleepwear, Mark joins her in bed. He waits for Addison to settle underneath the covers and curl into him like usual (she will probably do some mild grumbling, as her growing stomach guarantees she does a lot more adjusting now to find the most comfortable position).   
  
“Aren’t you going to lie down?” Mark asks, wondering if he missed something. She has her body twisted towards him in a way that suggests intended closeness, but she’s propped up too much, one leg bowed over the other and a bent elbow supported on her pillow. Mark is tired, _so_ tired, but he is certain that she said she wanted to go to sleep.  
  
“Not yet,” Addison tells him. “I want to rub your back, but I can’t really do it if I’m lying down because your eggplant-sized daughter makes it tough to find positions that work for me. But this does. So you’re going to help me out a bit first by rolling onto your stomach, and then I’m going to rub your back until you fall asleep.”  
  
“But that’s what I’m supposed to do for _you_ ,” he counters, but gives in and flips onto his stomach when she tugs at his shoulder.   
  
Addison smirks. “Again, nothing in writing.”  
  
“Don’t think I won’t _put_ something in writing and go get it notarized.”  
  
“I wouldn’t put it past you,” she says while stroking her fingertips along his spine. “But it’s okay, Mark. You fall asleep first tonight - I know you’re tired and that pesky girlfriend of yours didn’t make today easy for you. Please let me take care of you for a change.”  
  
“But if – if it starts raining hard or -”  
  
“I promise I’ll wake you up if I need you. I’m okay right now though. Just sleep. I love you.”  
  
“Love you too, Addison,” he murmurs sleepily, resisting the desire to close his eyes for as long as he can until the soothing feeling of her hand finally pushes him into an exhausted slumber. Addison waits until Mark is sleeping peacefully before she worms her way under the blanket and cuddles into his side, quickly joining him in sleep.   
  
\------


	20. Piece by Piece

**Chapter 20. Piece by Piece**  
  
“What?” Addison asks curiously when Mark opens his mouth to say something, then seems to think better of it and curls his lips back together. His hands go still against the lapels of the A-line coat he has helped her shrug into.  
  
“Nothing. I was going to try to button your coat, but it appears that, well…”  
  
“Oh,” Addison bobs her head in acknowledgement. “Your chivalry is appreciated, but yeah, it doesn’t button anymore. Not with this belly.”  
  
“So, you’ll text or call at any point if -”  
  
“I will. Promise. And I’ll only be two blocks away. Derek will probably just want an appetizer or something since it’s too early for dinner, but I will definitely be having Lunch Part Two.”   
  
“Lunch Part Two?”  
  
Addison grins. “Or Dinner Part One. I’m hungry _all_ the time now.”  
  
“Okay. Well, I’ll see you back here for either Dinner Part One or Dinner Part Two then. Is there…” he offers a mild shrug. “Is there anything I can do around here while you’re out?”  
  
“The Australian Open is going on, isn’t it? Why don’t you watch that? Have a beer and relax. Enjoy the silence. There’s no to-do list for you at the moment.”   
  
“I was kind of _hoping_ for a list, actually. I…I want to keep busy,” Mark admits quietly.   
  
Addison nods her understanding. He has been supportive of her meeting Derek for some type of meal today, but has not been successful at hiding his uneasiness. “Okay. Well, you can put Pickle’s bookcase together and mount it to the wall,” she suggests. “Why don’t you start there? And if you still want more to do after that, I have the list in the plastic sleeve on my nightstand of baby things we still need, broken down by category…” she pointedly ignores the look of amusement Mark gets regarding the fact that she has gone to extra lengths to protect this document, in addition to how it’s been organized. “Just stick to the things in green. Anything written in green pen is an _exact_ item I want, so you can’t go wrong there, provided you know how to read. Shopping will kill some time for you. And if you decide to be very, very reckless and deviate from the list -”  
  
“I’ll be sure to hang on to the receipts.”  
  
\------  
  
“Hey,” Derek says, rising from the bench outside the restaurant when Addison approaches him. His eyes dart to her stomach, and it seems as though he cannot help himself when he observes, “Wow. You look so…pregnant.”  
  
“Well, I am in fact pregnant,” Addison offers a tight smile, knowing that Derek was just stating the obvious and didn’t mean any offense.   
  
There is no hiding it now. In addition to Addison’s ever-growing stomach, her face is fuller, her hips are wider, she swears even her nose is a hairsbreadth broader, and the outline of her belly button is now creepily visible through certain tops ever since her “innie” became aggressively “outie” around week twenty-seven (she knows this is a common occurrence, but it really did freak her out the first time she saw it, and it didn’t help that Mark classified this new development as _weird-but-cool_ – he apologized quickly and later came home with some kind of body butter to help with her itching skin in order to get back in her good graces).   
  
“Are your mom and Nancy…?” Addison looks around, but does not see either Shepherd woman nearby. Derek had told her the three of them were planning to stay in a hotel tonight. Carolyn and Nancy will head back upstate tomorrow and Derek will board an evening flight to Sea-Tac in two days’ time after speaking at a spinal surgery conference at Mount Sinai. Although Addison is very, very nervous about engaging with her (former?) mother-in-law and (former?) sister-in-law, Mark and Derek separately assured her the women wouldn’t have elected to come into the city if that hadn’t wanted to see her.  
  
“Already inside,” Derek answers. “I had to step out to take a work call, and then I saw your text saying you were close, so I figured I would wait for you.”  
  
“Taking a work call while on vacation?” She raises an eyebrow, knowing she’s pushing it a little bit.  
  
“About the thing I’m speaking at on Monday. Again with the nagging,” Derek manages a teasing grin, and then gestures for her to enter the restaurant first.  
  
\------  
  
Two hours later, Derek and Addison are sitting on a bench not far from Tavern on the Green. After a nice, mostly non-awkward appetizers-and-second-lunch-for-Addison outing with Carolyn and Nancy, Derek had suggested that the two of them take a walk through Central Park to catch up more properly while the Shepherd women did some shopping (Addison agreed to Derek’s idea, but due to how winded she tends to get lately, suggested they walk to a bench, where they would sit for the remainder of the proposed walk).  
  
“This is for you, by the way,” Addison hands Derek a key after they’ve talked a bit more about some unbelievable Seattle Grace cases, Derek’s conference, their respective Christmases, and the offer Addison recently accepted on the house in the Hamptons.   
  
Derek stares at the key questioningly. “What is it for?”  
  
“The brownstone. I…I wasn’t sure if you still have a key. It’s just in case you want to grab anything while you’re here. I’d be happy to ship stuff out to you too though. I haven’t had the agent list it yet. I will eventually, just…” she points to her stomach. “There’s just a few other things going on at the moment. And Derek, if you wanted to split the final offer, we still can –”  
  
“Addison.” He shakes his head.  
  
“Okay,” she responds evenly. “Well, again, feel free to get whatever you want, and I’ll give you advance notice when the time comes to do the staging so you don’t come home from work to find more shipping boxes than can possibly fit in your trailer. Oh, but if you trek into the basement, just leave Mark’s bike alone. He won’t shut up about getting it back.”  
  
Derek scoffs at this. “You mean _my_ bike? Addison, that’s not his bike in the basement. It’s mine. Maybe he borrowed it one time or we had some sort of shared custody arrangement, but it’s not his. He took my wife. He doesn’t get the bike, too.”  
  
“I’m glad you feel the two are comparable. You guys were always so weird together. In a cute way though.”   
  
“Well, it’s arguably weirder now…” he pats her hand, and startles when his fingertips brush against the cold metal of the promise ring Mark gave her for Christmas. Addison watches him stare at it. Derek doesn’t pose a direct query, so she doesn’t offer any information.  
  
“He really loves you, doesn’t he?” Derek asks instead after a few moments of silence whip through the cool air. His voice is quiet, contemplative. “Mark’s serious. It’s not just a game or playing house.”   
  
“Yes,” she answers.  
  
“That’s what my mom said too, but I just…” he shakes his head. “And you love him, too?”  
  
Addison nods, exhaling slowly. She’s practiced this in her head many, many times in the event an opportunity might present itself, but it’s still nerve-wracking and difficult to express. “I do. Derek, I…I love him in the way that I think you love Meredith. It’s just _more_ , somehow. I didn’t plan for it to happen – not that night, nor anything that happened after. I didn’t even think I _could_ feel this way about someone. And just so you know, I didn’t feel anything for Mark while we were married. I loved you, Derek. I did. I was in love with you. I loved you every second, every minute of our marriage. We were happy for a very long time, and it wasn’t the kind of happiness that could be faked. And I will always care for you and always love you. It’s just…”  
  
“It’s different with Mark. It’s _more_ ,” Derek repeats.  
  
“Yes. Like how it’s different and more with Meredith. Right?” She asks, certain of the answer, and Derek finally nods. “Can I ask…what she’s like?”  
  
His eyebrows furrow as he considers this request. “You want to know?”  
  
“I do. I just know she’s a good doctor. And that she can quote both Steinem and Swift.”  
  
Derek smirks. “Voices of a generation, the both of them. Indeed she can.”  
  
“But I’d like to know more, if you’re willing to share. I’m just curious, that’s all.”  
  
“Okay then,” Derek agrees, lips parting in reflection as he considers what to share. And when he does speak, Addison watches his expression transform, and if she didn’t know it before, she knows now, that _they_ never had what he had with Meredith, and what she has, against all odds, with Mark. “Meredith would tell you that she’s dark and twisty. She didn’t have the best childhood, so sometimes she _is_ dark and twisty, but she’s more than that. She’s strong. Loving. Feisty. Smart. She sees the world in shades of gray…pun not intended. She’s sensitive. She’s a good friend – arguably _too_ good of a friend, because she’s essentially turned her mother’s house into a homeless shelter for surgical interns.”   
  
Addison smiles when Derek winds down. “She sounds really great. I’m…I’m very happy for you. I’m sure that’s a weird thing to say, but I am.”  
  
“She is great,” he agrees. “Thank you for asking about her. But being apart from her the past few days…this is the best I’ve slept in a while. There’s a snoring issue we’re trying to address.”  
  
“Maybe try ear plugs?”  
  
“For her? How would that help?”  
  
“For _you_ ,” Addison rolls her eyes.  
  
“Oh, yeah. That makes more sense.”  
  
“Derek, look. I know I have no right to ask this, but would you be willing to just… _consider_ talking to Mark? He’s at the apartment right now. He misses you so, so much. And he’s sorry. I started it; I know you don’t want to hear that, but I did. It wasn’t like he seduced me.”   
  
“Sometimes it hurts more,” Derek admits, rubbing absently at his temples. “The betrayal I felt when I found you with him…sometimes it hurts more that I found _him_ with you. And Addison, what would I…what would I even say to him?”  
  
“Well, ‘hello’ to start with. And then you’d just listen to him say that he’s sorry, I think. Mark would probably even let you get a punch in, but I’d prefer you don’t do that.”  
  
Derek smirks at this. “Do you think he’d suture his own face if I hit him hard enough that stitches were needed?”  
  
“I don’t think. I _know_. I’d like to not test the theory out though.”   
  
“Fair enough.”   
  
\------  
  
“How did it go?” Mark asks. He had to force himself not to run down the hallway when he heard Addison unlock the front door. It is hard to read the look on her face when they make eye contact. There is perhaps a frantic quality to her expression, he decides.   
  
“It went well. Really well. But now isn’t the time to talk about it – Mark, if you want to talk with Derek, he’s at ‘the bar,’” Addison throws finger quotes around the words, the gesture as quick as the words she is spitting out. “Derek said you’d know which place he’s talking about. Seems like I was never cool enough to warrant an invite to this mystery spot. I told him I’d text if you were coming. Otherwise he’ll finish his predictable scotch and head back to his hotel.”  
  
Mark blinks. “What should…what should I say to him?”  
  
_That was his worry, too_ , she reflects. “What do you _want_ to say?”  
  
“That I’m sorry. And that I never meant for this to happen…” he makes a funny, brisk motion with his hand towards Addison and her pregnant belly that she chooses not to be miffed about. “And that I’m sorry for hurting him.”  
  
“That’s a good start.”  
  
“Okay, then I’ll just –”   
  
“But Mark,” she cuts in. “I shouldn’t be worried about this, right?”  
  
“He’s just a friend, Addison. A friend with enviably great hair, but just a friend. I coveted his wife. Not the reverse.”   
  
She is unsuccessful in trying not to laugh. “I meant more in the way of will I need to bail you both out of jail tonight due to a bar fight or something?”  
  
“No, I promise. Hey,” Mark presses a kiss to one of her eyebrows that is rumpled with concern. “Relax. Go check out the bookcase – it’s done. And I left some other stuff in there for you and her.”  
  
\------  
  
Addison smiles when she spies the pale blush bookcase set up in the corner of Pickle’s room. The books they’ve acquired nearly fill two shelves, and it looks as though Mark has attempted to organize the books by _color_ , which is hysterical to her, but also a little sad because it’s definitely an indicator he must have been trying really hard to keep himself busy so as to not worry obsessively about her visit with Derek.  
  
An infant car seat, diaper pail, video baby monitor, collection of baby wraps and carriers, pacifier set, and a Rebecca Minkoff diaper bag (all _green pen_ items – smart man) are piled by the wingback rocking chair they purchased last week. It becomes clear to Addison that color-blocking children’s books did not pass enough time, so Mark must have spent the remainder of his afternoon scrambling around Nordstrom and Pottery Barn Kids.   
  
And then she smiles wider when she spots two non-green-pen items nestled in the rocking chair, each waiting for an owner to swoop them up: a stuffed elephant and a floral-patterned maternity robe.   
  
\------  
  
Mark nods to the bartender as he drops into an unoccupied seat. “Double Scotch, single malt. Actually…” he notices two empty tumblers to his left that haven’t been cleared away from Derek yet. He should probably catch up. “Two, please.”  
  
Derek clears his throat, nods in the direction of the nearest television set featuring an NBA game. “The Knicks are already losing.”  
  
“Of course they are. Some things never change.”  
  
“And some do.”  
  
Mark offers a strained smile when two glasses are set in front of him. He takes a generous sip of one, and then decides to push the other towards Derek. He takes a slow breath and forces himself to look at his best friend (who appears open to listening, but needs to be staring at the TV screen for this).   
  
“I’m sorry, Derek. I’m just…sorry. But just so you know, Addison has point blank refused to post bail if we get arrested for fighting. Not that I’ll swing. If you need to hit me or something though, I get that.”  
  
“I’m tempted,” Derek murmurs, downing the rest of his glass and reaching for the one Mark nudged in his direction. “But I suspect Mom and Nancy wouldn’t bail us out either. I need to ask though…I have some…questions.”  
  
“Ask anything.”  
  
Derek meets his eyes. “The time I caught you…that was the first time? Like, there wasn’t _anything_ going on before that?”  
  
“That’s the truth.”   
  
“Did she love you while we were married?”  
  
“No,” Mark responds. “At best, she just _tolerated_ me.”  
  
“Did you love her though?” Derek asks. The grimace that ghosts across his face makes it evident to Mark how much it is physically paining him to ask these questions to the man he had considered to be like family.   
  
“Yes,” Mark says, refusing to look away even though that is all he wants to do. “Not for your entire marriage,” he adds quickly. “In the last two years or so, I started to fall in love with her. We were spending more time together; you weren’t around as much. I felt something just… _shift_ in me. But I didn’t say anything and I definitely wouldn’t have done anything about it. But then last June she kissed me and…” he trails off, uncomfortable.  
  
Derek nods, looking back to the game. “She said she started it.”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“But you didn’t stop it. Neither of you did.”  
  
“No,” he admits. “But I’m incredibly sorry for the hurt and pain this has caused you, as my best friend and brother – and her. I’ll _always_ be sorry for that.”  
  
“Okay,” Derek says softly.  
  
“Okay,” Mark repeats, unsure what to say next. He does get the sense this conversation is not over, and there is more to be said, but that this conversation is over for _now_.  
  
“Oh, I forgot…” Derek reaches into his coat pocket after he’s finished his third drink and Mark has finished his second. He hands over a drawstring pouch. “I meant to give this to Addie. It’s, um, for the baby. You can open it though.”  
  
Mark offers a shy smile, dipping his hand into the pouch and pulling out a pair of Seattle Seahawks baby booties.  
  
“Thank you, Derek,” he says, swallowing the rush of emotion he feels crowd in his throat. “Addison will love them. And I – I really like them too. The Seahawks are in the same conference as the Giants though. You knew I’d hate that. That was at least _part_ of the appeal, right?”  
  
Derek smirks. “Just a little. Hey, when she’s born, would you…let me know? And send a picture or something? It’s kind of hard to actively dislike and resent a baby, so I’m trying here.”  
  
“Yeah, absolutely. I will.”   
  
“And if you hurt Addison, or the kid…” Derek looks at him properly, and it’s the first time tonight that Mark has seen anything that could be identified as anger pass over his features. “I’ll kill you.”   
  
“I know. Savvy will too, for the record. Just in case you want to coordinate.”   
  
“Oh, okay then,” Derek responds. “I’ll just call to confirm in that case, since that’s probably enough. Savvy will see it through.”  
  
\------  
  
Mark smiles when he steps into the bedroom to find a barely-awake Addison with a plush elephant snuggled in her arms. “I hope you realize that the elephant is for our daughter,” he says while stripping off today’s shirt and pants in favor of sweats as old as his med school diploma and a Rangers crewneck. He joins her under the comforter. “The robe was for you though.”  
  
“I know. And I love it. Thank you,” she beams back, then squeezes the elephant tighter. “I just wanted some company while you were gone.”   
  
He frowns and scoots closer, instantly a bit concerned. “Were you having trouble sleeping?”  
  
“Yes, but that’s because of the Braxton Hicks and edema and my uterus trying to do some Baby and Johnny Castle-style moves with my ribcage,” she offers a sheepish smile. “I’m okay, Mark. I was just kinda lonely. Silly, right? It’s only been a few hours since I’ve seen you…but I missed you.”  
  
He slides his lips over hers. “I missed you too.”  
  
“I’ve gotten too used to this,” Addison mumbles against his mouth.  
  
“Used to what?”  
  
“You,” she pecks lightly at his bottom lip. “And not having to sleep alone.”   
  
“Stay used to it,” he murmurs, scraping a hand through her hair. “Okay?”  
  
Addison nods happily and tugs at the bottom of his shirt. Mark breaks their kiss to give her an intrigued glance. Her fingertips slide under the cotton material, dancing up his ribs to rub the contours of his chest and the sharp lines of his collarbone.  
  
“Yeah?” Mark asks, trying to keep his tone nonchalant. He runs a palm along her hip, inquiring. Although they’re still intimate, they definitely slowed down once Addison hit the third trimester. Twenty-eight weeks and beyond has come with a lot more exhaustion and new aches and pains, which has resulted in sex becoming less desirable for her. Mark does his best to be understanding of this (although longer showers are becoming more of a necessity), so when he touches his forehead to hers, he tries not to appear _too_ eager.  
  
“Mm-hmm. Just…” Addison squirms a little until she is able to grab hold of the stuffed elephant. She tosses it behind her. “No audience though.”  
  
\------  
  
“So how did it go with Derek?” she asks later that night, drowsy and resting happily in Mark’s arms post-coital. “I meant to ask earlier, but just…jumping your bones was more of a priority to me, apparently.”  
  
“Certainly not complaining,” Mark stamps a kiss to the back of her neck. “It went well with Derek, I think. I was able to apologize. And he listened. And I think…I think we might eventually get to the place where we can maybe be friends again.”  
  
“That’s so great, Mark. I’m really happy for you two.”  
  
“Yeah, same here. He got something for the baby, by the way. Hang on and I’ll grab it.”  
  
“Oh my gosh, they’re so cute,” Addison squeals when Mark climbs back into bed and hands her the booties. She fingers the blue and green material and the team logo for a few seconds before setting the booties on her night stand. “The Seahawks aren’t AFC though, right?”  
  
“Nope. So Pickle now has to represent _two_ teams in the same conference. Doesn’t matter that it’s different divisions; you know how I feel about that. And Derek knows as well, which is in part why he picked them. Guess I can’t blame him though for trying to get back at me,” Mark grins into her shoulder as he wraps his arms back around her. “By the way, his hair is longer now.”   
  
_You and that man’s hair_ , Addison thinks. “Yes, it’s very Russell Crowe.”  
  
“You used to have a thing for him. I remember that.”  
  
She giggles. “Still do. But more of a thing for you.”   
  
“And Derek seems happy,” Mark continues. “He likes Seattle. And he likes Meredith. Loves her, actually.”   
  
“He does,” she acknowledges. “Snoring and all. I’m sorry that this is how it happened – even though it’s not actively on my mind anymore, I will _always_ be sorry that I cheated and that this is how we got together. But…he wasn’t happy with me…not at the end, at least. And even when he _was_ happy, and when _we_ were happy, he feels something with her that he didn’t feel with me. And I am happy for him, that he has that. I am really am. And I’m happy that _I_ have that. Does that…does make sense?”  
  
“Honestly, that was a lot of pronouns to try to sort through, but yes, I get what you’re saying. And I’m happy I get to be the guy who contributes to your happiness.”  
  
“Let’s make each other happy again,” she grins at him over her shoulder.   
  
Mark starts to chuckle. “What’s going on with you tonight?”  
  
“Not sure. But that’s not a no, right?”  
  
“It’s never a no with you, Addison,” he murmurs, tugging at her hips with a sense of urgency until she climbs back on top of him.   
  
\------


	21. Cannonball

**Chapter 21. Cannonball**  
  
The days, even non-work ones, are long and busy. Mark and Addison transition through a whitewashed, frigid January to an equally cold but somehow more tolerable February, leaving behind the first six months of pregnancy and hurtling closer to the anticipated arrival of their daughter.   
  
They power through two more mostly-bearable dinners with their parents. The grandparents gifted them a stroller which retails for over a thousand dollars (Mark and Addison have never been stingy about dropping money on luxury items, but the stroller is too excessive and ostentatious even for _them_. They plan to take a few photos of the baby in the stroller for the elder Montgomerys and Sloans, and then resume utilizing a more reasonably priced stroller they possess), as well as some smocked dresses and gowns for the baby that are absolutely gorgeous (but impractical in that all it will take to ruin them is one diaper blowout).  
  
Another social event that took place in February was a “very small, no-new-friends gathering” at work for Addison with a few neonatal and peds doctors and nurses she is closest with. She flat out _refused_ to have a work baby shower (or a family/friends shower, for that matter) when Nurse Charlene asked her about it, but the two of them, and Addison’s other closest colleague, Doctor Josie Morales, went round after round before Addison finally relented and agreed to a “very small, no-new-friends gathering” in an abandoned conference room at the end of a workday. Charlene and Josie were true to their promises, and made sure there was a lot of food, but zero decorations, zero _wear a blindfold and guess what this baby food is_ games, zero opportunities to write down parenting advice on notecards, and no one came anywhere near Addison with a string to guess the size of her baby bump. The co-hosts did, however (thanks to Mark’s willingness to scrounge up some photos at their request), create a small framed collage of photos of Mark and Addison as babies for everyone to look at. Addison found that she couldn’t be annoyed about this unexpected detail because _one_ , she hadn’t expressly said this couldn’t be done, and _two_ , it is hard to be grumpy when people are fawning over baby photos of you and your partner and proclaiming how incredibly cute your offspring will be. And although Addison _said_ no gifts, she was truly touched by the thoughtfulness of her colleagues and delighted to accept a nursing pillow, play mat, everything she would need for breastfeeding (all green-pen items, and she knew Mark was happy to pass this section of the list off to someone else), and lots of onesies and adorable outfits (none specifically green-pen, but Addison’s colleagues know her well enough to know what she would give a thumbs-up to style-wise).   
  
Life is good though. They are happy. _Addison_ is happy, which is significant for her in that she definitely wasn’t remotely happy this time a year ago. She is certain, actually, that she has never been this happy before, even though she is _also_ certain she has never been this exhausted before either. She feels the tiredness whirr through every part of her due to typical pregnancy aches, but also because of the recent whirlwind of planning for this next stage in life, having to muscle through social things and human interaction in general when there is nothing she craves more than sleep, and the fact that her job isn’t always easy (she has just reached thirty-two weeks and intends to work for another three).  
  
But, still. She knows that even though everything going on guarantees she collapses into bed at the end of each day and wakes up never _quite_ fully-rested, getting to fall asleep cuddled next to her boyfriend is just about the loveliest, most wonderful thing she has ever experienced.   
  
Addison starts to feel that the arrival of their daughter is the only thing left that could possibly manage to make this life of hers more perfect and more meaningful than it already is.   
  
\------  
  
“Do you want me to tell him? I can take this one,” Josie offers once the baby they delivered – stable, thankfully – is wheeled off to the NICU for extra observation as a precaution. Addison appreciates the kindness in this gesture from her fellow attending (Josie is a nice person anyway, but she has two young kids, so she knows firsthand it’s never easy to deliver news like this when your pregnancy hormones are an albatross around your neck, plus the guilt of having to tell an expectant father his pregnant fiancé is dead when you yourself are very _visibly_ pregnant). Addison shakes her head as she tugs off her scrub cap. She suggests they just do it together.   
  
“Brandon. Your daughter is doing well. Healthy and beautiful,” Addison begins when they approach the distraught-looking father in the waiting area. He had stood the second he saw them. Addison notes he has a tear-shaped droplet of blood on one of his shoes from the lead-up to the severe placental abruption that brought the mother into the OR this morning after being transported by ambulance. “We were able to get the baby out in time. She should be fine, but we’re going to monitor her closely for a bit – Doctor Morales can take you up to see her in a moment.”  
  
“Okay. Okay,” Brandon responds, breathing heavily. His face is shiny with perspiration and his eyes are red-rimmed. “Thank you. My…my fiancé though? Is she…is she…?”  
  
Addison sighs tensely. This part never, never gets easier. She thinks sometimes that it actually gets harder. “Grace had what’s called an amniotic fluid embolism. It’s rare, but very serious. It’s when fluid enters the bloodstream, and that combined with the placental abruption…I’m so sorry, Brandon. We did everything we could, but she didn’t make it. Her bleeding was out of control, and after we got the baby out, she went into cardiac arrest. We tried, but couldn’t bring her back. We’re so sorry.”  
  
 _Go_ , Josie mouths to her colleague when Brandon starts crying into his hands, gut-wrenching, scene-stealing sounds that reverberate through the waiting area and leave Addison breathless. _Go_ , Josie mouths again as she places a hand on the grieving man’s shoulder. Addison does not waste another second. She curls her hands around her stomach as she walks quickly down the hall. She makes it to a staff bathroom in time to empty the contents of her stomach for the first time in four months. This time, though, she knows it has it has nothing to do with morning sickness.   
  
\------  
  
Addison toes quietly into the kitchen, watching as Mark absently scans the contents of the fridge in search of something for dinner (she appreciates his commitment to looking, but assumes in a few minutes he will give up and start browsing takeout menus and scrolling through delivery apps). Anxiety bubbles in her stomach while he continues to pick over the shelves.   
  
“Hey, Mark?”   
  
“Yeah,” he responds distractedly as she walks over to the other side of the open fridge door.   
  
She swallows nervously. “I wanted to talk about…um…if something were to happen to me when I have the baby, it’s okay for you to eventually move on to, you know, someone else. I don’t want you to feel like you’d have to be a single dad forever.”  
  
Mark tenses and his eyes freeze on some strawberries in the fruit bin. He is too stunned at this statement to bring himself to turn and face her. “What?”  
  
“I’m just saying that if something were to happen to me…”  
  
He can feel King’s Landing-loud bells of panic sounding off in his head, and Addison’s words seem muddled to him as she continues to ramble. The very _idea_ of her dying, of her not being here, is just unfathomable and makes it hard to breathe. “Addie, please don’t -”  
  
“I’m just saying it’s okay to find someone else. I would _want_ you to. It’s –”  
  
“Addison, _stop it_ ,” Mark snaps, closing the fridge door harder than intended. He regrets it immediately, knowing there is no way the harshness of his tone did not hurt her feelings, and more significantly, given the underlying anxiety she continues to cart around in the margins of her life, she for damn sure does not need or deserve to be yelled at or startled like that.   
  
“Wait. Addie, please wait,” he catches her by the wrist when she dejectedly attempts to move away. “I’m sorry. I’m really, _really_ sorry. I didn’t mean to yell. It’s just that the thought of losing you…I’m sorry, Red.”  
  
“It’s okay,” she responds, allowing Mark to wrap his arms around her waist from behind. The devastation in his voice is apparent. “I know you didn’t mean…I’m okay…it’s okay…” she manages to gasp out, but then promptly bursts into tears, squeezing out rough, high-pitched sobs. _None_ of it is okay.   
  
“Addison,” he says gently, turning her around in his arms. “Talk to me. Where is this coming from? Did you -”  
  
“I lost a patient this morning,” she answers the beginning of his question while she weeps into his chest.   
  
“A baby?”  
  
“No. The m-mom. Amniotic fluid embolism. It’s rare, but often fatal. And Josie and I tried so hard…”  
  
“I know. I know you did. And I’m sorry. Is the baby okay…?”  
  
Addison nods, providing the details she has kept with her all day. She sniffles, wiping at her nose. “Yeah. I want to monitor her for a few days, but she’ll be fine, other than being a half-orphan. Healthy and strong. And beautiful. Sadie Grace. Grace was the mother’s first name. I just…that poor father. I feel so awful for him and the baby. And I…I just…Mark, I don’t want to die,” she says, starting to cry harder again.   
  
“I’m sorry about your patient. And I’m sorry for how much it’s hurting you,” Mark kisses the top of her head. “But hey, you’re going to be _fine_ , Addison. You’re not going to die when you deliver Pickle. I know…I know the birth part is nerve-wracking and obviously today didn’t help, but you have an awesome doctor and I’ll be there the entire time. There’s no reason to think you won’t have a safe childbirth experience. Everything will be okay. Try to believe that.”  
  
“‘Kay,” she mumbles, rubbing at her eyes. “The rational part of my brain knows that. It was just…a really, really tough day.”  
  
“Yeah, I know. Let’s go sit down and I’ll massage your shoulders.”   
  
“You don’t have to…”  
  
He shakes his head at Addison’s attempt to dismiss this offer. “Oh, I absolutely do. I lost my temper with my pregnant girlfriend,” he walks with her to the living room, and helps her get settled on the couch next to him.   
  
“I know you didn’t mean to. It was just the subject, because I…well, I don’t want to contemplate losing _you_ either.”  
  
Mark moves her hair over one of her shoulders and presses a long, feather-soft kiss to the exposed skin of her neck, working to steady himself. “Love you, honey,” he murmurs when he feels more in control.  
  
“Love you too, honey. And _again_ …” Addison giggles after she hears Mark grumble in protest. “You have nothing in writing about pet names, Mark. I can be a copycat if I want to.”  
  
\------  
  
“I can keep going,” Mark offers later when she twists around, rolling back her shoulders to break contact with his hands. “You’re entitled to _at minimum_ a half hour of this, you know.”  
  
“It’s okay. I’d actually rather just cuddle with you,” she admits quietly.   
  
Addison appreciates that he is unfailingly patient when it comes to her figuring out what positions work best for her at the moment (most do not) to ensure maximum comfort, and they ultimately shift over to the chaise section of the sofa. Mark stretches his legs out along its length, and she curls up in his lap, feeling safe and comfortable from a combination of his arms knotted around her and the back cushions nestled behind her. She rests against him, focusing on taking slow, calming breaths while his hands trace soothing patterns on her back.   
  
“You sure you’re okay?” Mark asks, brushing some loose waves away from her face. “I feel like such an _ass_ for snapping at you. And for slamming the fridge door. I…I hope I didn’t scare you.”  
  
“You didn’t. I’m okay, Mark,” she nuzzles her nose into his neck, a gentle assurance. “I promise.”  
  
“Okay. Good. Hey, Addie? I think we should talk about – I think it’s time to start your maternity leave.”  
  
She shakes her head. “I’m not ready though. I’m planning to work at least another three weeks. I’m strong enough to do that, Mark. This morning was just a rough one and I’m feeling it right now.”   
  
“I know you’re strong enough. But I’m _not_ , Addison.”   
  
“What?”  
  
“Please consider doing this for me. Because I worry. Yes, you’re strong, but you’re also tired and you have a stressful, emotionally-charged job, and you’re very, very pregnant right now. Look, if you want to keep working, I’ll support you one-hundred percent, but please just think about starting your leave. It would mean a lot to me.”  
  
“You worry about me?”   
  
“Of course. I love you,” Mark kisses the top of her head. “Kind of comes with the territory, don’t you think?”   
  
“Yeah, but you’re not just being, like…manipulative?” Addison asks, and he raises an eyebrow in a way that evokes both confusion _and_ a bit of offense. She circles a hand around Mark’s wrist, her touch delicate and apologetic. “Sorry. I don’t mean ‘manipulative’ in like a sociopathic way. More in a _selfless_ way. I’m probably not explaining this well…I just mean that we both know I’m trying my best, but I’m still a little fragile sometimes. And I think you’re trying to make sure I don’t feel guilty about starting my leave earlier than I wanted to. So therefore you want me to think I’m just doing this for you, not for me.”   
  
“Well, first off: the keyword there is _sometimes_. You’re _sometimes_ fragile because you went through something pretty fucking traumatic last year and you’re pregnant and your entire job is basically being in the vaginal trenches with high-risk pregnancies and fragile newborns. And yeah, you’re also strong, Addison; that’s not lost on me, but I’d worry no matter how you’re feeling. Your health and happiness _matter_ to me. I want you to be well.”  
  
“Okay,” she presses her lips together and reluctantly offers a nod. “I…I know you’re just trying to help. It’s just hard to admit to needing help sometimes. You’re right though; it’s time to pack it in, because it’s not going to get any easier in the coming weeks, and truthfully it’s becoming a lot more difficult to lean over an operating table with Pickle in the way. I’ll…I’ll talk to the chief to see about starting my leave next week.”   
  
“Thank you. And if it helps your pride in any way, just know there are a _lot_ of things I could use your help with.”  
  
“I can’t help you sexually right now, Mark. I’m very tired and it just seems like there would be something incredibly sad about giving you a hand job after all this crying.”  
  
“I didn’t ask for one,” he laughs, but then grows serious. “Here’s a perfect example though: you know what’s in my tennis bag right now? A package of Pampers and a CPR baby doll I stole from the hospital. I don’t know how to change diapers and I’m scared to do it wrong and traumatize Pickle. So you have to show me how to do it later on the dummy doll, okay?”  
  
Addison stares at him for a moment, mouth rounded in shock and confusion, and then she starts to laugh, a welcome release of emotion that knocks against her so hard that her stomach aches and her less-than-proud tear ducts activate again. “Oh God. I’m sorry, Mark,” she swipes her fingers beneath her eyes to dab at the reflex teardrops, continuing to giggle. “I’m not making fun of you. I just – those dolls the hospital uses for CPR classes are _expensive_. You absolutely _have_ to give it back. And you need to do it discreetly, because otherwise you’re going to be the weird guy who brought a CPR doll home with you and people are going to have questions.”  
  
“I will. Was this weirder though than saying your job involves you being in the ‘vaginal trenches?’ Because I regretted that one immediately.”  
  
“Kind of a toss-up.”  
  
“Okay. And by the way, I didn’t _plan_ on keeping the doll, you know. The intent was always just to borrow it.”  
  
“I really hope so.”  
  
\------   
  
“You sure?” Mark whispers that night when she reaches for him, eyes beginning to glitter in a scheming way and smiling _that_ smile. It was not an easy day for her, so in circumstances like this it always occurs to him to gauge her reaction first.   
  
“Yes. Please.”   
  
He grins in response and joins her in a short laugh. “Since you asked nicely,” he says, capturing her lips with his.   
  
The sex is slower now, more tender. The pleasure is nice, of course, but Addison has started to desire comfort a bit more when it comes to intimacy, given that she has reached what she considers the Violet Beauregarde stage of her pregnancy. Her back and breasts also hurt like hell, so much so on the latter that the bras she keeps on even while she sleeps can now only be classified as _supportive_ , not sexy.  
  
Mark pushes into her from behind, both of them curled on their sides in a spooning position. His lips make steamy paths from her neck down to the slope of her shoulder, and his hands touch all the right places as they slowly rock together.   
  
“We can…we can change it up if this isn’t working for you…” she says at one point, which is enough to make him stop thrusting.   
  
“Is this not comfortable?”  
  
“It is,” Addison replies, and despite her offer, she is unable to stop herself from wiggling her hips to get Mark to start moving again. “It feels really good. It’s just as far as you getting some enjoyment out of this…I don’t think this is the best position for -”  
  
“I’m getting plenty in terms of enjoyment,” Mark insists as he resumes pushing against her. “I think you’re forgetting how much I like making it feel good for you and how much I enjoy making you come, Addison,” he teasingly blows a stream of hot air against her neck, and her silent wish is granted when he does it again. “Just relax.”  
  
“Okay.”  
  
“You feel amazing,” he murmurs later, bending her right leg and guiding it back a bit to give one of his hands more access to her lower half. She closes her eyes and moans immediately at the new contact. It does take Mark a few more minutes to finish than it does her, but it feels incredible for both of them as he thrusts more insistently while holding her by the waist, coming with a hard jolt as her hand skims up and down his thigh in encouragement.   
  
“Thank you,” she says afterwards, voice sleepy and satisfied.   
  
“Pleasure was all mine,” he kisses her deeply, slipping his tongue against hers. “Hey…” he asks when they pull back for some much-needed air. “What do you want to do for Valentine’s Day next week? I should probably get you something, right?”  
  
“Chocolate. Not because it’s a holiday where you’re kinda supposed to get me something, but just because I really want chocolate. And Taco Bell. Beyond that, I just want to sleep. And not cry about patients. And order everything else we need for Pickle.”   
  
“Chocolate and Taco Bell for sure,” Mark agrees. “And hey, what if we went to Cape Cod for a few days next week? It might be nice to go one more time before Pickle gets here. I assume once she arrives we’ll be embracing the shut-in life for a while.”   
  
“Yes. With Pickle, and…” Addison smirks, “also with our CPR doll, of course.”  
  
“I swear I’m going to return Tate as soon as you show me how to put diapers on. The problem is I can’t tell the front from the back.”  
  
“Jesus. Fucking. Christ. Mark, you gave the doll a _name_?”  
  
“Tate as in resusci _tate_. It’s funny.”  
  
Addison rolls her eyes. “I see you’re already getting a head start on the dad jokes. You’re lucky I love you so damn much, because you are a very, very strange person, Mark Sloan.”   
  
\------


	22. Gold Dust

**Chapter 22. Gold Dust**  
  
Mark glances over at Addison when they are about a half hour outside their destination. “Think you can make it the rest of the way?”  
  
“I can’t make any promises,” she smirks back, even though she wants to tell him, _Not a chance_. While it really isn’t going to be much longer until they reach their Cape Cod home (it still gives her a little thrill that it’s _theirs_ ), she suspects they will need to take another bathroom break first. “Your daughter’s head is pressing on my bladder.”  
  
“Alright, then just let me know when.”  
  
“Hey, Mark?” She says, turning back to him after a few minutes of watching the lush scenery whip by her window. She tucks a loose strand that has escaped her messy bun back behind her ear. “I would marry you, you know.” Her voice is soft, a little shy when she shares this.   
  
She thinks about it more now. Marriage isn’t everything, and they certainly don’t need to walk down an aisle and exchange vows to make this relationship _significant_ , but the love Addison feels for him is all-consuming, something that seems far beyond her control. There is really no reason not to marry Mark one day – and it feels kind of inevitable at this point. She knows she wants something smaller the next time, no more than a handful of guests, but she doesn’t allow herself to get too lost in the details yet. She does, however, think she would like a winter wedding.   
  
Mark offers her a reassuring smile to indicate _I would marry you too, you know_ , but can’t resist teasing her a bit. “You’re really stuck on this whole will-he-won’t-he-propose-while-driving thing, aren’t you?”  
  
“No,” she giggles. “I was remembering the conversation though, because we passed Mattapoisett and I think that’s about where it came up last time. I was basically shot gunning a sandwich at the time, if you can recall.”  
  
“I can. But now I know without a doubt that you’re just having me make all these pit stops so you can thwart my car proposal. Maybe we _don’t_ stop the rest of the way there then.”  
  
She laughs in response, but is completely serious when she tells him, “Yesterday I sneezed and peed my pants a little bit, but if you want to test that not-stopping-anymore strategy and gamble the contents of your very nice, clean leather seats, that’s your call.”  
  
“Noted. Don’t worry, I promise I’ll stop the next time you have to go. So I’m assuming I should propose _after_ Pickle is born? We don’t have a lot of time left and I don’t think I could secure a flash mob and a marching band in time.”  
  
“You _wouldn’t_.”  
  
“God no. I promise it will just be the two of us. It will be a complete surprise and I will sweep you off your feet and all that other shit.”  
  
“And all that other shit,” Addison echoes with a thoughtful smile. “But yes, after the baby comes. Not right away, but…later.”  
  
“That’s a pretty vague timeframe to work with, Addie.”  
  
“I know. You’ll figure it out though.”  
  
\------  
  
“Just so you know…” Addison sighs happily, nearly losing her thought as she stares out at the ocean waves that shimmer in the afternoon sunshine. It is an unseasonably warm day, so eating on the porch swing ended up being a possibility. “I don’t think I’ve ever been so happy before.”  
  
Mark smirks. “I want to say ‘thank you’ and that I’m glad I make you happy, but something tells me this is about Taco Bell.”  
  
“Yep. Sorry, Mark, but it’s one-hundred percent because of the Chalupas,” she nods towards a nearby wicker side table that holds their plates and the crumpled paper bag filled with empty wrappers of the lunch that he ate and the lunch that she positively inhaled.   
  
“It’s okay. I kind of figured.”  
  
“But now that we’re done and my fingers are no longer oozing with sour cream and meat that probably isn’t actually meat …” Addison digs through her beach tote, shifting its contents. “I got you something.”  
  
“Why? We said just food. You didn’t have to get me anything,” he shrugs mildly. “I like Taco Bell and chocolate too, you know. And they’re weirdly kind of great together.”   
  
“You got me roses. That’s not ‘just food,’ Mark.”  
  
“Still.”  
  
“It’s just a little something, two little cheesy somethings,” she says, finally pulling out two gift bags. “This is also kind of like a birthday gift in advance, so just think of it as a Valentine’s/birthday combo. I am going to be far, _far_ too lazy to go out and get you something in the middle of next month, so I’m fast-forwarding the present part to right now.”  
  
Addison watches his face for a moment. Mark’s lips have parted in uncertainty. She catches a fleeting glimpse of the tentative, sad little boy who did not want to be alone and went room by room to turn on every light and really could have been loved a whole lot better. She throws him a lifeline, because while it’s really not a big deal to her that he doesn’t know, his expression is just breaking her heart.  
  
“My birthday is June ninth, if that’s what you’re wondering,” she offers kindly.   
  
“Okay,” he nods, glancing at the plank boards beneath him. His cheeks turn a little pinker. “I thought it was in June, but I…I wasn’t sure on the date.”  
  
“That’s okay,” she reaches across the table for one of his hands and wraps her fingers through his. “Now you do know.”  
  
Mark looks back up. The smile, the hair, the body, the glitzy blue-green eyes, the intelligence, the assertiveness…sometimes none of that is more desirable to him than her softest characteristic: her kindness. Sure, there can be moodiness and the occasional passive-aggressive comment (the pregnancy hormones do not help), but Addison truly is a very kind person who doesn’t hold on to resentment or bear grudges for too long. And mostly, she believes in him. Most people do not.  
  
He squeezes her hand back. “I’m not usually good with birthdays, but I won’t – I won’t forget yours now that I know it. Or Pickle’s.”  
  
“I know. Now, open,” she pushes both bags towards him. “Oh, and by the way – I ordered a more masculine baby-wearing carrier for you as well as a diaper bag. I wasn’t really thinking about the fact that you probably don’t want to wear Solly wraps or cart around a diaper bag that is essentially a very fashionable purse.”  
  
“Correct on both counts. Thank you.”  
  
“And one of these is for you, and the other is actually for Pickle. Open the Pickle one first,” she points to the bag on his left.   
  
Mark shifts the tissue paper aside to pull out a onesie. This one appears to be for the three-month age range, but the size of it still nearly takes his breath away. Even the clothes Addison has purchased that the baby won’t be able to wear until next winter just seem impossibly _tiny_. Mark flips the onesie around to see “My Heart Belongs to My Dad and the Yankees” in navy blue writing. He likes it immediately and thanks Addison, not just because he can appreciate how cute it is, but because for reasons that aren’t entirely clear to him, his girlfriend really, really doesn’t like to buy baby clothes that have text on them. It must have taken a lot for her to select the _place order_ button on this one.  
  
His second gift is a simple white mug with black block letters that spell out, “My Favorite Daughter Gave Me This Mug.”  
  
“I love it, Addie. Thank you. But I thought you knew…” Mark says with a straight face. “Tate – CPR kid – is a _boy_.”  
  
Addison rolls her eyes at him, having expected him to get in another remark about the doll. “Well, the ‘my favorite son’ mug was already taken by Tate’s actual father, the CPR instructor, so you’ll have to settle for this one. It felt like a good purchase though because it’s right up the ‘dad jokes’ alley. Just trying to help you out.”  
  
“I appreciate that.”  
  
“And by the way,” she adds, “since you seem insistent on that doll having a name, his name is now Jerry. I got it from Cardiopulmo _nary_. Kate is still our top-choice for our kid. Did you think about that when naming the damn doll? Kate and Tate are basically the same. I don’t like that. And when I’m a sleep-deprived, emotional zombie with a newborn, I don’t want to call her ‘Tate’ by mistake. Because I might.”  
  
“Alright. Fair enough.”  
  
“ _But_ for as much as I’ve given you a hard time about naming a non-human, I guess I should admit that when I was doing some organizing in Kate’s – I mean Pickle’s – nursery, I thought Ellie would be kind of a cute name for the stuffed animal you got her.”  
  
“Oh, the elephant? That’s Maggie.”  
  
Addison briefly closes her eyes, and tries not to groan. “You already named it…of course you did. Why are you like this, Mark?”  
  
“Hey, I named it after the _doctor_ who’s going to deliver our kid. It’s a nice touch. And if said kid wants to change its name one day to Ellie the Elephant or whatever, that’s her choice.”  
  
“You know, I’ve never heard you call Maggie by her first name. Always ‘Doctor Connelly’ this and ‘Doctor Connelly’ that. Why?”  
  
Mark shrugs. “I don’t know. I’ve never thought about it. Other than the fact that she’s a doctor, I guess just because she’s _your_ friend. I don’t really know her outside of the exam room.”  
  
“But we’re together, so by proxy, you guys are friends.”  
  
“Okay. I’ll try to remember that.”   
  
“I mean, she’s _way_ friendlier and less condescending towards you at prenatal appointments than I am.”  
  
“This is true.”  
  
\------  
  
The rain is relatively delicate on Wednesday night, barely louder than breathing as it falls in sideways brushstrokes, and although there is no thunder or lightning putting on a performance in the night sky, Mark had still expected some sort of a reaction, even if minor, from Addison. Instead, she is nestled in his arms, body seeming soft and loose as she faces away from him. She watches the ocean waves rolling in the distance.   
  
Mark rubs a hand lightly over her forearm to get her attention. “You seem so relaxed right now.”   
  
“I am,” she glances over her shoulder at him. “I feel safe with you. And I feel safe, just like, with _myself_ too, right now.”  
  
“That’s great,” he kisses her on the temple. “I’m proud of you, Addison.”  
  
“Thanks. I’m…I’m proud of me too,” Addison admits with a small smile. She wants to shrug the praise and self-praise off. She wants to say it’s not a big deal, but realistically, she knows it _is_ ; for her to not feel anxiety due to the battles raging in her head and to not get stuck in _that place_ every time a storm brews or something else amplifies her emotions is important. It is a step towards healing, no matter how messy the act of healing usually is.  
  
“Do you think it’s us?” Mark asks. “Do we just bring rain with us or something when we come here?”  
  
“Ha. Who knows. I’d actually like to be very cliché and have you kiss me in the rain, right by the water, but I’m too lazy and warm to move…” she frowns after a moment when silence lodges between them. “Hey, you’re not asleep, right? I was expecting at least _some_ sort of agreement, or perhaps for you to express an interest in more than kissing. Not even a courtesy chuckle?”  
  
“Sorry. My interests, and the visual of you soaked through your clothes, definitely do go beyond just kissing. I was just thinking, that’s all.”  
  
“About what?”  
  
“Addison,” he lets out a low sigh. “I’m nervous. About being a dad, I mean. About not being a _good_ dad.”  
  
“You’re really great with diapers now though. And you brought the CPR doll back to the hospital, which shows good judgment. Tell me what scares you. But just…help me turn over first so I can face you.”  
  
“All of it scares me,” Mark says once he has helped her roll to her other side.  
  
“Okay,” she begins. There is so much drama behind his statement and it is just so _not him_ that Addison has to fight back a smile. She strokes a hand to the side of his head, traveling down to his jawbone. “Try to give me an example though, honey.”   
  
“I don’t think I’ll know how to swaddle her.”   
  
“That’s okay. I’ll show you, and if it’s not working out for you, it’s not the end of the world. She doesn’t have to be swaddled in order to sleep.”   
  
“How do I – how do we get her in and out of the car seat without bumping her head on the handle or the canopy part?”  
  
Addison does not hide her grin this time. This thought has actually crossed her mind before. “Hell if I know. We’ll just do it as slowly as we can each time. We won’t break her.”  
  
“Okay. And what if I don’t know what she wants…like if I can’t tell the difference in her cries?”  
  
“You’ll check to see if she has a clean diaper and think about when she last ate. If she’s clean and has a full belly and she’s already been burped, and it seems like everything is fine, then you’re just going to hold her close and love on her until she settles. Babies do cry for what seems like no reason sometimes,” Addison gives his hand a light squeeze. “You’re really spiraling right now, aren’t you?”  
  
“Yeah. Feel free to join me. Aren’t you nervous?”  
  
“Of course, but we’ve apparently landed on the one day in the calendar year where your anxiety is higher than mine. And in all honesty, some of the things you’re worried about – not that they aren’t valid – just aren’t pinging as high for me at the moment because of _other_ things I’m going to face. Google ‘ring of fire’ and ‘episiotomy,’ for example. Those are things I’m almost too embarrassed to discuss, and there’s no reason to be since, as you once mentioned, my profession means I’m in the vaginal trenches day in and day out. Oh, and ‘cracked nipples’ is another special kind of hell, though I’m assuming that doesn’t require an explanation.”   
  
Mark offers a weak grin. “Not that one, no. Sounds horrible though. And when it comes to caring for our kid, I’m sorry my nipples are essentially useless in comparison.”  
  
She laughs in response. “Anyway, sorry. I know this isn’t about me. What else are you nervous about?”  
  
“What if…what if she doesn’t like me? I just mean that, well, she’ll prefer you. And that’s fine, I get that, you’re the mom and you have the _useful_ nipples and frankly, who wouldn’t like you more than me, but as far as…being able to comfort her. What if you’re in the shower and she’s with me and she’s just, like, _miserable_ because she’d rather have you? And what if I can’t get her to stop crying?”  
  
“The fact that you’re so worried about that just shows me how good of a dad you’re going to be. How _great_ of a dad, actually. When she won’t stop crying and seems like she’s miserable, just stay calm – it’s going to happen, and it’s going to happen to me too, because babies are just incredibly rude like that. But they don’t cry forever. Mark, you’re going to be a total champ at comforting her though; I know that because of how you are with me. It’ll be the same for…” she stumbles, feeling _Kate_ accidentally form in her mouth. Mark seems too lost in his head though to give her a hard time about the near slip-up. “For the baby,” she continues. “For Pickle.”  
  
“Sometimes it feels like I can barely keep _myself_ alive. When I go to heat up something frozen in the microwave, I always have to fish the box it came in out of the garbage because I forgot to read the instructions. How am I going to keep a kid alive?”  
  
“Everyone does that, and you’re not going to put your kid in the microwave, so I wouldn’t use that example as a way to measure whether or not you’ll be a good dad,” Addison giggles. “We’ll keep her alive, I promise. You really _are_ going to be good at this, Mark. And if it makes you feel any better, it’s not like I’m going into this with unshakable confidence. The babies I operate on and monitor don’t come home with me. The thing is though, what makes me _less_ nervous about being a parent is knowing I’ll get to do it with you. Sure, we’re going to make a lot of mistakes, but none of them will likely result in lasting trauma during her infancy, and we’ll definitely do a lot of good, too. Any other worries?”  
  
“A million, probably, but that’s all I can think of off the top of my head. I…I feel a little better though.”  
  
“Good.” Addison adjusts herself a little in order to rest her head on his chest. “And for the record? I’m really, really glad you’re going to be this kid’s dad.”  
  
\------  
  
“Hey, Addison,” Mark smirks over at her as they begin the long drive back to Manhattan. “I have to ask you something important. It’s the most important question I’ve ever asked someone. Addison Forbes Montgomery, will you…will you…?” He laughs when she throws him a dirty look, but then bursts into a round of laughter herself.   
  
“Oh my God. I _hate_ you, Mark Sloan.”  
  
“You love me. Though you might love me a little less tomorrow if I accidentally wake you up while I’m getting ready for work. By the way, what are you going to do with your first week off?”  
  
“I’m doing a triathlon.”  
  
“Yes, obviously.”  
  
“I’m going to sleep a lot. Eat. Bitch aloud to no one about Braxton Hicks contractions. Talk Savvy into blowing off work for a day to come hang out with me. Do some nesting. Avoid getting in cars with you. Oh, and maybe learn to knit. I’ve always wanted to learn, and I feel like that’s something a surgeon should take to pretty naturally.”  
  
“Isn’t that kind of like…a celibate person activity?”  
  
“Not entirely sure what you mean by that, but it’s probably _about_ to be like that for me. The sex window is getting dangerously close to closing, and once it does, it is going to stay closed until June, probably. Get ready.”  
  
“I’ll survive. Plus we’ll be pretty busy with Pickle-Kate,” Mark says. They have messed up so many times over the past few days that they have transitioned to calling her this. Kate just _feels_ like her name now, and even if it is not, they feel confident she will at least look more like a Kate than she will a Pickle when she is born. “I’m going to be a master ‘swaddler’ by the time she gets here, you know. I’m determined to learn.”  
  
“I swear to God, if you even _think_ about bringing that CPR doll home to practice on...”  
  
\------

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know that per Addison and Naomi's discussion in Private Practice, their daughter would have been Ella (SOBS), but her name was Kate in the original MTGOF, so.


	23. Every Teardrop is a Waterfall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little angsty, so just note there are mental health discussions/anxiety discussed in this one.

**Chapter 23. Every Teardrop is a Waterfall**  
  
“Hey, Sav!” Addison yells out as a welcome from the end of the hallway. She has just emerged from a long shower, and can hear her friend – who arrived while she was enjoying said shower – talking with Mark.   
  
Addison walks to the living room as her friend calls back a _hello_. She tips her head in a mixture of curiosity and vague protectiveness when she finds Mark and Savvy lying on the floor, stretched out on her pregnancy pillows. “What are you two doing?”  
  
“Exactly what it looks like,” Savvy blinks up at her. “Trying out your pillows. I _love_ this one.”  
  
“I can see that. I’m glad they’re big so I don’t have to worry about you sneaking out of here with one.”  
  
“Can we trade back now?” Mark implores, turning to face the other pillow-borrower. “I like the ‘C’ shape one better. This one just…I feel like I’m being suffocated.”  
  
Savvy smirks, considering this. “Mark, you should really wait until your girlfriend is out of the room if you’re going to talk about her like that.”  
  
“Shit. That was a good one,” Mark laughs while Addison whines _hey_ in protest.   
  
“I know,” Savvy says. “I’m pretty proud of it. So I get a few extra minutes with this pillow because of how well that joke landed _and_ because while you were at work I shaved your girlfriend’s legs. That’s true friendship right there.”  
  
Addison pouts at her. “You _asked_ if there was anything you could do to help me around here. That helped. And I only had you shave up to the knees.”  
  
“I wasn’t planning to go any higher. But hey, I did it for you too,” Savvy winks at Mark. “I’m trying to keep the magic going.”  
  
“She’s almost thirty-six weeks pregnant, Sav. You really think there’s any magic still going on?”  
  
“Aren’t you both _so_ funny,” Addison rolls her eyes. “Of all the roommates I could have had freshman year and of all the guys who could have knocked me up, I get saddled with you losers.”  
  
Savvy grins. “You love us.”  
  
“I do. Provided I eventually get my pillows back.”  
  
\------  
  
“You’re like on your own little island over there,” Mark observes with an amused smile. Addison is on her side of the bed, wrapped up in one of her pregnancy pillows (the one he feels is suffocating). They have started to give each other space at night, both for comfort purposes as well as sanity. She wakes up several times a night now (and is not always successful at not waking _him_ in the process) due to the sheer discomfort of being this pregnant.  
  
Addison beams back at him. “My very comfy, non-magic island.”   
  
“Still plenty of magic,” he taps her on the nose. “Just not the sexual kind.”  
  
“That’s true. But can you come over to my island for a little bit anyway?”  
  
“I wish that was a euphemism, but I know you’re just angling for a back rub,” he lets out a fake dramatic sigh. “Hey, Addison…you doing okay though?” His eyes shift towards the windows lining their bedroom. It is not raining _too_ hard this Saturday night, but still.  
  
“Mm-hmm,” she mumbles sleepily. “I am.”  
  
“Good. Make sure you wake me though if you need anything.”  
  
“I will. It will probably just be for nachos. I feel okay – mentally, at least. Physically it’s less than ideal, given the nail gun someone is apparently alternating between driving into my hips and lower back, and also things going on with my boobs that you don’t want to know about. All thanks to your pineapple-sized daughter.”   
  
“She’s always my kid when she’s causing trouble, isn’t she?”  
  
“Yep.”  
  
\------   
  
A few hours later, she is not close enough to reach him, to prod her fingers anxiously against his back while he sleeps on his side, turned away from her. Nor is she okay after jolting awake from a nightmare. And the pillow – the magic pillow she loves so much – really _does_ feel suffocating in this moment.   
  
“Mark…Mark…” she attempts, throat tight. “Mark.”  
  
“Salsa or queso?” Mark mumbles sleepily, coming to. He reaches a hand out and is able to navigate it to the on/off switch of the table lamp with his eyes closed, getting the button on the first try (he is vaguely proud of this). Mark opens his eyes with some reluctance as he rolls over, but any lingering irritability about just wanting a _few_ hours of uninterrupted sleep flutters away when he sees Addison’s quivering lower lip and tears sticking to her cheeks.  
  
He scoots over quickly. “Oh, Addie. Hey, it’s okay. You’re okay.”  
  
“I don’t want to be on the island,” she whimpers. It takes Mark a moment to understand; the conversation before they went to sleep has not come all the way back. But when Addison wiggles more insistently, trying to swing one of her legs out from under the pillow, it clicks. He nods his understanding and guides the pillow out from under her to push it off the bed.   
  
“There we go,” he settles his arm over her waist, and slips the other under the curve of her neck, pulling her close. “I’ve got you. Addison…you’re not in any pain, right? And the baby’s okay?”  
  
Her head jerks in a nod, which he takes to mean as a _no_ to the former and a _yes_ to the latter.   
  
“Not – not the…” her sobs pick up a little. “Not the weather.”  
  
Mark frowns, trying to understand. “That’s not what…what’s wrong then? Did you…did you have a bad dream?” He asks. Addison nods again, this time letting out a sad, bleating cry. “Can you tell me about it, Ad?”  
  
“Brownstone. He…the brownstone.” And then she shakes her head, followed by a lengthy shudder. Mark fills in the remaining pieces in his head.   
  
“I’m sorry,” he sighs in sympathy. “I know it felt real, but you’re safe now. Everything is going to be okay. Addison, try to name five -”  
  
“No! I don’t want to play,” she shrieks, loud enough to make Mark wince. The crying and wheezing gasps are becoming harsher, more frenzied. “Mark, I – I don’t want to play.”   
  
“Okay. I’m just gonna hold you then. Let’s sit up though and get you a bit more space,” he suggests, though it is really more of a decision. Addison’s feet are scraping wildly against the sheets as she tries to scoot closer, and Mark feels bad not just for her pain, but because it is not as easy to hold her close while facing each other, given the expansive bump between them. He sits up and helps her do the same, steering her into his lap.  
  
“I can’t breathe. Mark, I can’t _breathe_.”  
  
“You can. I’ve got you. Each time I squeeze your hand, inhale, hold the breath until I stop squeezing, and then exhale. Inhale, exhale. We’re just going to keep doing that, okay?”   
  
Addison drags in a heavy gulp of air. “I’m so s-sorry.”  
  
“Don’t be. It’s okay, Red. You’re okay.” She is clearly not though. There are more peaks and valleys than usual to her crying, to her anxiousness. Mark holds her tighter, coaching her through a few slow, measured breaths.  
  
“I’m – I’m scaring her,” her gaze shifts to her stomach. “You need to talk to her.”   
  
Mark glances down sharply. “Addie, do you think…do you think you’re going into labor?” His chest tightens at the possibility. He thinks of the early-but-just-in-case hospital bag of hers by the front door. He thinks of how he can possibly manage to get her to the door when she’s this upset.   
  
“N-no. And she’s not in distress.” Addison states, and he feels his heart resettle at this. Mid-panic attack or no, he trusts her and her judgment unreservedly. “She just – she just doesn’t _like_ this. I know she doesn’t. You h-have to talk to her. Just talk to her. Help her so she…so she knows she’s okay.”  
  
Mark presses a hand to her lower abdomen. “Is this where she is right now?”  
  
“H-here,” she moves his hand down a little, fingers tangling together. Mark tightens his other arm around Addison’s waist, and she buries her head under his chin, still hiccuping. Mark is thankful for her guidance; because of Pickle-Kate’s size now – _Alice after she eats the cake_ , according to his girlfriend – she does not kick as much. Now it is mostly small wiggles and roly-poly moves.   
  
“Hi, Pickle-Kate,” he says, voice directed to Addison’s stomach. “It’s Dad. You’re okay, baby. You and Mommy are both okay. You’re okay. You’re okay. You’re okay,” he says it for them both, repeating it until his voice is in danger of becoming hoarse.   
  
It is hard to tell how much time has slipped by. Even if Mark was at an angle where he could grab his watch or phone off his nightstand or turn enough to see the compact alarm clock on hers (she has always refused to use the alarm on her phone to wake up), he is not sure he would believe whatever numbers blink back at him anyway. He assumes no more than a half hour has passed, but it is all too frenzied; perception and reality just repelling against one another while he cares for them both. Eventually, Addison’s sobs transition to toned-down whimpers, and then to weary, sniffling puffs of air.   
  
“Hey there,” Mark gently strokes her cheek to get her attention. “You starting to feel a little better?”  
  
Addison meets his gaze. “Yeah, just…tingly still.” _And everything else_ , she thinks, feeling exhausted and discouraged. _Head hurts. Brain hurts. Stomach hurts_. _Pride hurts. Self-worth hurts. Lack of control hurts. Being trapped in this fucking mess, this fucking circle, with no end in sight hurts._ “I’m just…I’m so sorry, Mark.”   
  
“Nothing to be sorry for.”   
  
“I think I scared Pickle-Kate. The baby’s not even here yet, and I’m already being…I’m already such an awful mother. He was right. He was _right_.”  
  
“No, he wasn’t,” Mark shakes his head. “Ad –”   
  
“I can’t comfort…” she hiccups sadly. “I can’t even take care of _myself_. So how can I possibly take care of her?”  
  
“You just…will. You already _do_ take care of her, both when you’re upset and when you’re not. This portion of the night was just a bit harder to care for yourself, but that’s why we’re going to do this together. There’s going to be times where you’ll need a little extra help and support, but there will also be times where I’ll be the one who needs it. You’ll always be able to take care of her though, Addison. And you’re going to be a great mom – you already _are_ a great mom. You know how I know?”  
  
“H-how?”  
  
“Because there’s usually a point when you get that worked up that it’s hard for you to hear me or make sense of things – you get trapped in your head. But tonight all you wanted to do was make sure your daughter was okay and that she wasn’t scared. You fought like hell when you were struggling to breathe to tell me to focus on her. You wanted me to help her, not you. That’s what taking care of her _was_ for you in that moment. And that’s just…one of the bravest things ever. That’s badass. You’re going to be such an amazing mom, Addie. And I know this will sound over-the-top, but it’s just…it’s an honor to get to parent alongside you.”  
  
She sniffles lightly. “Thank you, Mark. God, I hate that this is the segue I’m going to use after you said something so sweet, but I have to pee really badly and I don’t think I can hold it anymore. But I…I don’t think…” she begins, and Mark understands. He ushers her to her feet and helps her to the bathroom.  
  
“Is it okay if I wait here with you, Ad?”  
  
“Yeah, it’s okay,” she mumbles. It is _not_ really okay, but she knows it is for the best. Mark had to support her on the way to the bathroom, and she suspects she will need him to do the same on the way back; she still feels a little lightheaded and unsteady. Addison appreciates though that he does not look at her while she is on the toilet, that she is at least afforded that small dignity. “It’s just really fucking humiliating,” she adds.  
  
“It’s only pee,” Mark shrugs. “Everyone pees. Especially pregnant women.”   
  
“Usually not with their partner right next to them and not after they’ve spent a significant amount of time hyperventilating.”   
  
“I’ll see way more graphic things than this when you’re giving birth to our kid, from what I’ve been told.”   
  
“True,” she murmurs, getting back to her feet and flushing. Mark waits patiently while she washes her hands, and then her face, scrubbing hard with a towel against her reddened cheeks and heavy-looking eyes.   
  
“Do you want to lie down? Try to get some sleep?” Mark asks when she sits down on her side of the bed.  
  
“Not yet. I just don’t…” Addison shakes her head, embarrassed as she tries to explain, and hoping he understands. “I want to lie _down_ , but I don’t want…I’m sorry…I know it’s really late. Or early, actually.”  
  
“It’s okay. We’ll lie down, but we won’t sleep yet,” he assures, getting them situated under the comforter. Mark does not think he has ever seen her this exhausted before, this broken down, but he recognizes that she is prepared to fight off sleep as long as she can. “How are you feeling though? Still dizzy?”   
  
“No. Better. Calmer. Like my heart isn’t going to explode. I’m just…now I’m just kind of sad,” her voice cracks on the last word as her eyes water. “Sorry.”   
  
“Don’t be sorry. We’re gonna work on this whole not-apologizing-for-stuff-that-isn’t-your-fault thing later. Tell me why you’re sad though.”  
  
“Because I thought I was doing _better_. I want my old brain back. I want _this_ life, with you and Pickle, but I want my old brain,” she rubs at her eyes. “And I know I can’t have that, or at least not now…I know it takes work. And I know progress is progress, even when there’s setbacks, but I’m still really sad. At least if it was the rain or I was just thinking a lot about that night, I could _feel_ that; I could feel what I was feeling. Then tonight happened, and now it’s like I’m not even safe from myself when I’m asleep. I’m just _stuck_ with this version of me. I’ve had dreams about that night before, but -”  
  
“You have? Addie, I didn’t -”  
  
“Just a handful,” she says quickly. “They weren’t ones like tonight. Not so much upsetting to experience as they were…unpleasant, I guess. More like just a scene in a dream marathon. But, tonight was different. Mark, I couldn’t…I was just so _scared_. I woke up and it was just so -”  
  
“I know. I know you were scared. But you got through it. And you’ll _keep_ getting through it, even though it’s hard and it’s scary and it’s really unfair. You’re sad and you’re probably feeling discouraged, yeah, but it’s not going to be a linear path to getting this all addressed, you know? Trauma edits your brain and not every day can be the same. But you’re _strong_ , Addison. And you’re resilient. You’re going to keep getting through this, even if there are hiccups along the way. Like you said: progress is progress. It’s okay to feel sad, but I hope at the same time you’re still able to feel good about how far you’ve come. And I…” Mark clenches his jaw for a moment when he feels his throat constrict. “I’ll do whatever I can to help you and be your personal cheerleader-guy. I’d do _anything_ to take this all away from you.”  
  
“I know you would,” she musters up the remaining energy she has to lean forward to place a gentle kiss on his lips. “And I love you for that. You do so many thoughtful things for me, Mark, but unless you have special _Inception_ powers, I don’t think you can help while I’m sleeping.”   
  
“No, but we’ll spoon the crap out of each other, and if you have a dream like that again you’ll wake me up and we’ll get through it together. But, Addison…do you think maybe you should talk to someone? I’ll be here for you no matter what, but maybe it would be helpful to see a therapist? Someone who for ethical reasons won’t spoon with you, but will have more expertise about this. Tonight was a bad one. The worst it’s ever been.”   
  
“I know. I didn’t mean…” she lets out a fresh whimper. “I’m really sorry…”  
  
“Don’t be. It’s okay. Hey, Addie – look at me,” he cups a hand beneath her chin, lightly tilting her head up. “It’s _okay_. It’s not your fault and you don’t have to feel guilty about this. I just mean it was bad because it _was_ bad. But talking to a professional…maybe we keep in mind that that’s an option. For right now though, just remember that you’re safe.”   
  
“I’m safe,” Addison repeats, saying it slowly, testing its worth on her tongue.  
  
“You are,” he confirms. “You’re safe. And you’re strong.”  
  
“I’m safe. And I’m strong. And…” she manages a small, teasing grin as she looks up at him. “I’m magic.”  
  
Mark laughs and kisses her cheek. “Yes, you are. You’re the magic and I’m just along for the ride.”  
  
\------  
  
“Hey,” Derek says when he answers the phone. Mark and Derek have texted every now and then since they spoke in January – mostly about their teams – but phone calls have never been their thing. “Is everything okay?”   
  
Mark glances nervously down the hallway. Addison is in the shower right now – they slept in late, and she convinced him she felt well enough to shower on her own. He knows he does not have a lot of time though to make this call, so he is grateful Derek answered.  
  
“Uh. No, not really.”  
  
“Is Addison…?”  
  
“She’s okay. And the baby’s okay. No early arrival or anything,” Mark inhales deeply. “But Derek, I’m calling because Addison _isn’t_ really okay. Not all the time, at least. She had a panic attack last night. She’s had several this past year. They’re all related to the night that you, uh, caught us. About the immediate aftermath. And just…” he raises his voice a little when Derek attempts to cut in. “The last time we talked and you told me you’d kill me if I hurt her…I swear to God I could do the same to you at the moment.”   
  
Derek lets out a loud sigh. “It was so – you have no idea, Mark. I walked in on my wife and my best friend screwing…and just, the cruelty of it -”   
  
“You’re right,” Mark interjects. “It _was_ cruel, what we did…to cheat, to be that selfish, to hurt you like that. You were right to be angry and upset. But you yanked her off the staircase and threw her _outside_ in a storm half-dressed and slammed the door on her. No matter what she did, that’s _also_ cruel.”  
  
“I didn’t -”  
  
“Wait, just listen. Please. You have to know what it’s been like, because she doesn’t deserve to be going through this. Not ever, but especially not right now. You just…you can’t even imagine how awful it’s been for her. You can’t imagine how hard she cries when it’s happening. How sometimes she can’t hear me because she’s so paralyzed and lost in the fear. I have to help her _breathe_ because she reaches a point where she can barely do that. And then when it’s over, when she’s weak and exhausted and can barely walk and is a shell of her former self, she feels so embarrassed, even though it’s not her fault it’s happening. She’s _hurting_ , Derek. She’s in pain.”  
  
“God. I didn’t…I didn’t know,” Derek responds, words piping through slowly. “I’m so sorry. Do you think if I talked to her and apologized…do you think that would help?”  
  
“I think you owe it to her to try. Regardless of what she did to you that night…you did something to her too. And I know you don’t owe _me_ anything, but it would mean a lot to me, if you’d try. She’s in the shower right now and she’s still pretty wiped out from last night, but maybe you could call tonight?”   
  
“Yeah, I will. I promise.”  
  
\------  
  
“It’s Derek,” Addison murmurs, glancing down at her phone as it vibrates on the counter. She reaches for the phone instead of the bag of chips, and gives Mark a quizzical look. He offers to leave the kitchen to give her some privacy, but she shakes her head; it does not really matter to her.  
  
“Hi, Derek,” she answers. “You’re interrupting my nachos. I hope this is good.”  
  
“Addison…” his voice is faint in response.  
  
“That was just a joke,” she adds. “Nachos Time is important to me, but…are you okay? You sound weird. Is something wrong?”  
  
“I’m okay and family is okay and all that,” he assures quickly. “I’m calling because, well. I know there are times when _you_ aren’t one-hundred percent okay.”  
  
“Oh. He, uh…” she glances briefly at Mark. “He told you.”  
  
“Yeah, he did. Addie…I’m very sorry for what I did that tonight, and for how much pain it’s caused. I was upset, but I shouldn’t have reacted that way. You didn’t deserve to be locked out of your own house. I just…I’m sorry. That was wrong of me. I’m sorry.”  
  
“Thank you, Derek. For saying that,” she replies. Derek cannot help but smile into his phone. He has always appreciated that about her. Some things about Addison are distinctly girly – she says sorry more than she should, for example – but she has always been able to graciously accept an apology without automatically uttering _it’s okay_ in response.   
  
“Will you be alright, Addie?”  
  
“Yeah, I think so. I’ll get there. You know what brains can be like – and how they can recover – after certain experiences.”  
  
“I have a vague idea,” he laughs softly. “I should let you get back to Nachos Time, but Addie…I hope this doesn’t happen to you again. I care about you and I want you to be well. Same goes for that idiot I call my best friend. And you’ll, um…you or Mark will let me know when she’s born, right?”  
  
“We will. I promise.”  
  
\------  
  
“Are you upset I told him?” Mark asks nervously when she ends the call.  
  
“Not upset,” Addison offers a mild shrug. “Just a little embarrassed. But I…I understand why you told him.”  
  
“Okay. And I know you can fight your own battles, Addie, but this is one where I just…I felt like I had to say something. So this week…I have a few things I need to wrap up surgery-wise – you have Nachos Time, I have Nose Job Time – but I’ll talk to the chief and plan to start my paternity leave the following week. Or more towards the end of this one, if I can swing it.”   
  
“You don’t have to do that before she gets here. I promise…” Addison trails off, realizing that is not realistic. “I’ll do my best not to freak out again.”   
  
“I _want_ to be here. Come on, it’s our last window of time together before the third wheel joins us.”   
  
“Okay. Well, then…I’m glad you’ll be here with me,” she walks into his arms for a hug. “You’ll basically be my nacho fetcher though. And I’ll probably be bossy. More bossy than usual.”  
  
Mark drops a kiss on the top of her head. “I told you: I _like_ the bossing.”


	24. Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star

**Chapter 24. Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star**  
  
“I _knew_ she wouldn’t come early. I knew it,” Addison pouts from her spot on the couch. She gives up on choosing something on Netflix, simply too grumpy and uninterested to care. She tosses the remote towards Mark, a little harder than necessary.   
  
“She’s not that late,” he replies from the other side of the couch, tone amicable. He glances up from his laptop and offers Addison a reassuring smile. “Pickle-Kate just has a mind of her own. I’m looking at things online that can potentially get the labor started, and -”  
  
“I know all of those things,” Addison snarls, tone decidedly _not_ amicable. She is one day past her due date, and is becoming more miserable by the minute. “Vaginal trenches, remember? And I’m sure sex is at the top of your list of bright ideas, but I honestly cannot think of anything I’d rather do _less_ with you right now.”  
  
_Okay, fine. Don’t hold back_ , he thinks.  
  
“Plus, you touching me is what got us into this situation in the first place. So don’t,” she continues. “And stop _looking_ at me each time I have an irregular contraction. I will _tell_ you when it’s time to go to the hospital. Do you honestly think I won’t know when I’m in active labor, Mark?”  
  
“I know you’ll know. Sorry. I just…it shouldn’t be long though, right? I mean, yesterday Doctor Connelly said -”  
  
“ _Mark_. I was also at the appointment yesterday. In fact, I was the one being examined. So help me, if you mention effacement, mucus plugs, or anything of the sort, I will kill you. Kill you dead. And then I’ll bring you back to life just so I can kill you again. God, I can’t even put into _words_ how much I want to strangle you right now.”  
  
“Holy shit,” Mark acknowledges softly. “I can’t imagine why Pickle-Kate isn’t here already. You’re so happy and sunshine-y. I’m surprised she’s not more eager to start making her way out.” He knows it’s a risk to tease her like this, but she does manage a reluctant, closed-mouthed smile in response.   
  
“Sorry. I know I’m being…a lot,” Addison sighs. “I’m just _so_ uncomfortable.”  
  
“What can I do? Besides stop making suggestions, of course.”  
  
“Just tell your kid to pack her bags and the placenta and get going. She’s officially overstayed her welcome.”  
  
Mark smirks. “Free _womb_ and board is over, huh?”  
  
“You. Are. The. Worst. Maybe…maybe just don’t talk for a little bit.”  
  
“Okay. It’ll all be worth it when she’s here though, Addie.”  
  
She proffers a weak grin in response, even though Mark is still talking when she requested that he not. “Easy for you to say. You won’t be the one evicting her.”  
  
“No, I won’t. But it’ll still be worth it in the end, right?”  
  
“Yeah, it will,” she admits, smile lengthening.   
  
\------  
  
The _worth-it-ness_ of all of this comes into question about forty-eight hours later.   
  
“I’m dying,” Addison determines in a lull between contractions. Her tone is surprisingly calm about this fact. “I. Am. Dying.”  
  
They arrived at the hospital several hours ago, in time with the gold and orange hues of sunrise, once Addison’s contractions started coming in every five minutes and lasting for what felt like forever. Had Mark been the one to make the final decision (which is never), they would have left hours earlier, but Addison rightly insisted there was no reason to leave until the contractions intensified and came closer together. Instead, she kept busy throughout the night by taking a shower, walking (more like waddling) around the living room, rocking on an exercise ball, taking another shower, rechecking the contents of her hospital bag, eating two bowls of cereal, and encouraging Mark just to get some sleep. (He could not and would not, but was smart enough to stay out of Addison’s way until a contraction around four in the morning made her yelp in pain and grab on to the dresser to support herself.)   
  
And intensify the contractions did. These are _nothing_ like Braxton Hicks, Addison knows. She has always felt like she has a high tolerance for pain, but this tolerance is coming into question each time an unyielding knot stabs across her lower back and rips through her uterus, so relentless that she wishes she could climb out of her own body.   
  
She was adamant about going into all of this with an open-mind, and not really having a birth plan per se. The plan, she told Mark, was to just birth the baby, because even her WASP-ass knows that people plan and God laughs. However, now that she’s at ten centimeters and her daughter is throwing an absolute rager in her birth canal and it feels like she is being ripped in half, Addison very much regrets that an epidural was not part of the no-plan plan. She glances first at Sophia, one of the L&D nurses, who is holding her hand, and then at Mark, who is gripping the other.  
  
Doctor Connelly shakes her head at Addison’s grim declaration, and is ultimately the one to respond. “No, you’re not, sweetie. You’re not dying. It just feels like it.”   
  
“Fuck you, Mark!” Addison explodes, groaning as another contraction shreds through her.   
  
Mark knows he should just take it, as he _has_ been taking it for several hours now (and a lot days preceding April tenth, if he’s being honest), but he feels weirdly compelled to defend himself in this instant. “I didn’t say…Doctor _Connelly_ said that. Not me.”   
  
“I didn’t get her pregnant though,” Doctor Connelly replies quietly, and throws him a sympathetic look. “We’re almost at the end and this is the hardest part, so you’re about to take a lot more verbal hits…” she sighs when Addison wrenches her hand out of Nurse Sophia’s in order to shove at Mark’s shoulder, arm swinging wildly. “And apparently physical. Addie, try not to slap him around too much. You’re doing great. It won’t be much longer.”  
  
“I know – I know. I just… _fuck_.”  
  
“You really are doing great,” Mark says, tucking a hand under her ponytail to rub the base of her neck. He knows he is taking a double risk by talking to her and touching her, or really just _existing_ at this point, but he feels like he _has_ to say it. Everything about this looks primal and terrifying (Mark is convinced if the roles and anatomy were reversed, there is no way he could do this), and the fact that there is nothing he can do but offer support that isn’t always particularly well-received makes him feel utterly useless.  
  
“Thank you,” Addison manages a shaky nod, looking over at him and breathing out a tired sigh. “I hope you know I don’t mean anything I’ve been saying. I’m just in so much…”  
  
And then she opens her mouth and screams, the noise echoing off the pale walls of the delivery room. A burning sensation overtakes her as her skin stretches and stings to its upmost capacity, pressure clouding every inch of her.   
  
“She’s crowning. It’s okay, normal response,” Doctor Connelly confirms in a low voice through the series of screams, mostly for Mark’s benefit, as Addison unfortunately has a good idea of what is happening. There have been moans and yells during the last hour, but not this long, not this decibel-shattering. Mark, who looked absolutely horrified and sick to his stomach when the scream started (it hasn’t really ended, but is punctuated by the occasional _fuck_ and _oh my God oh my God oh my God_ ), relaxes a little when Doctor Connelly assures him this is typical and her just-stay-calm expression reflects it.   
  
“Relax for a sec,” Doctor Connelly directs when Addison’s screams die down to shaky exhalations and whimpers. Doctor Connelly gestures for another nurse to join her as she gives her patient further instructions. “Don’t push yet. Blow through your mouth. Blow out the candle, remember? Don’t push. Addie, I know you said _hard pass_ to the mirror, but do you want to feel her? You know it sometimes can -”  
  
“I…I don’t know. I don’t know. Just get her out. Get her out of me. I can’t do this. I can’t do this…” Addison’s voice leaps up, desperate and panicky. She looks at Mark, no longer Undesirable Number One. “Mark, I can’t. Please. I can’t anymore. Hurts…it hurts…”  
  
Mark instinctively acts, perhaps in line with the way Addison has always assured him that he has it in him to be a good, nurturing father.   
  
“Addison, yes you can,” he insists, taking her hand and easing it between her legs. The sob in Addison’s throat gets interrupted, dying with a cartoon-loud gulp as her fingers make contact with her child’s head, just barely past the stretching seal of skin. Addison gasps, momentarily forgetting how much agony she is in. Instead, she focuses on this moment: just feeling the texture of her daughter’s head. Her daughter.  
  
“Oh…” she whispers.   
  
Mark brings her hand back a few seconds later, and bends forward to kiss her sweat-streaked hairline. “That’s your little girl. She’s right there, Addison. And you can do this,” he says fiercely. “You’re doing such a great job and you just have to hang in there a little longer. You can do this. You’re strong and you’re magic, remember?”  
  
Addison gives him a solemn nod, eyelashes spiked with tears, chest heaving with exhaustion and near-hysteria, and grips his hand tighter. More guttural screaming and crying and pushing follows, but then the tiniest wail Mark has ever heard fills the room. He watches as Doctor Connelly comes forward and places the squalling infant on Addison’s bare chest (she gives Nurse Sophia a silent thanks for helping unsnap the front of Addison’s gown), initiating skin-to-skin contact.   
  
“She’s beautiful. You did great, Mom,” Doctor Connelly says, using towels to wipe the baby down and then tucking a blanket over mother and daughter. Addison’s lips curl up in a smile as she folds both arms around the baby, hugging her closer to her chest. Her smile widens when her daughter settles a little and peeps up at her with one eye open, no longer crying.  
  
“Really beautiful,” Mark echoes as he wipes away a lingering tear on Addison’s cheekbone. _You were incredible_ , he thinks, though he will definitely say it to her later. He presses his palm to the top of Addison’s head and gently strokes her hair while watching in awe as the baby – holy crap, _their_ baby – squirms a little, dark blue-gray eyes blinking open and closed as she stretches an arm out.   
  
“Thank you, Maggie,” Mark adds when he hears their OB walk back to the end of the hospital bed. His eyesight never leaves his daughter though, because Addison has informed him more than once that the birth of the baby doesn’t equal the _end_ and that he shouldn’t look, but mostly because how could he possibly look at anything other than this tiny, angelic-looking being in front of him? Mark reaches a hand out, a little nervous, and strokes the baby’s cheek, skin still puffy and not all-the-way pink yet, but still beautiful and soft as velvet beneath his knuckles.   
  
Addison nods in agreement to the observation that their daughter is beautiful. She is still trying to find her voice as she feels overcome with emotion. _I will love you forever_ , she thinks, staring down at her baby, now quiet and calm. _I already have. I loved you before I knew you_. There is a sense of correctness, a sense of inevitability to this moment as she considers there is no way that life could ever be anything _but_ this.   
  
“She’s perfect,” Addison eventually remarks. She makes a cooing sound when their daughter shifts her wide gaze towards her boyfriend, who, for as much as she has wanted to strangle at various points throughout this journey, she cannot imagine doing this with anyone else. “Mark, this is our _baby_ ,” she almost giggles at the absurdity of it.   
  
“Our baby. Addie, _look_. She’s looking at me,” Mark says, absolutely delighted. Addison beams at the childlike excitement in his voice. “I…I think she knows I’m her dad.”  
  
“See? I told you she would.”  
  
\------  
  
What follows in the dimmed recovery room, when it is just the three of them, is much more hushed and peaceful. The view of the Hudson River is distorted by pewter gray skies and quivering rain droplets that cling to the window panes, wet splashing against wet, but they have not noticed. They really haven’t noticed _anything_ except for their baby. The process of becoming acquainted with one another is a vivid exploration of soothing touches, watching for hunger cues, and comforting voices. Everything for Addison and Mark melts into heavenly firsts: first kisses, first cuddles, first pictures, first feeding, first diaper change, first time talking in an obnoxious “baby voice,” and first time counting their daughter’s fingers and toes.   
  
Addison fidgets with the floral receiving blanket tucked around their daughter, smoothing out the material. “I know I’m becoming a broken record, but she’s just _beautiful_. So, what do you think, Mark? Is she a Kate…?”   
  
“Well, she’s definitely not a Pickle,” Mark grins when Kate clutches on to his pinky in her sleep. “I think so. What do you say, little one? Are you Katherine Savannah Sloan, and we call you Kate?”  
  
Addison places a kiss on her daughter’s faint brow. “Well, she hasn’t woken up to protest, so I think we have the one. Welcome to the world, Kate Sloan.”  
  
“Now that we have that settled…” Mark clears his throat and reaches into his pocket. “I have something for you, Addison.”  
  
“Please don’t propose right now.”  
  
Mark chuckles, shaking his head. “I’m not. You know, the joke’s going to be on you thirty years from now when you’re still dictating how and when I should propose and I’m still just your boyfriend. It _is_ jewelry, but it’s not an engagement ring – it’s, um, a push present.”  
  
“You didn’t have to do that,” Addison folds her lips together, feeling excited, but also a little sheepish. She has delivered plenty of babies whose mothers were given something afterward, and she isn’t quite sure how she feels about it. She understands the reasoning behind it, the love and appreciation for the Herculean effort that is bringing a child into this world, but something about it has always felt weirdly transactional to her (and if nothing else, “push present” is just an incredibly tacky name). “Kate’s kind of the present.”  
  
“That’s what _I_ said, but Savvy said I was wrong and I needed to get you something. There was also a threat if I didn’t. And you know how much she scares me,” Mark offers a smile. “And, well. I kind of wanted to get you something. Anyway, it’s just a little thing. I picked it out myself, but it got the Savvy stamp of approval.”  
  
“Okay then,” she nods. “I’m ready.”  
  
“I swear this isn’t payment for your services,” Mark states when he pulls out his wallet and reaches into the bill compartment, triggering a laugh from Addison. “The jewelry box wouldn’t fit in my pocket and putting it in here felt like the safest way to ensure I’d always have it on me,” he holds out a solitaire diamond on a delicate, white gold chain.   
  
Addison smiles in gratitude. “Our girl’s birthstone. Thank you, Mark. It’s gorgeous. Can you help me put it on?” She inclines her head towards their sleeping daughter. “My hands are a little full.”  
  
“I got a matching one for Kate, too,” Mark tells her while opening the clasp. “She can wear it one day when we know she won’t trade it on the playground for a Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup or something.”  
  
“Thank you. And can I ask you to get me one more thing?” Addison asks once he has secured the necklace around her throat.  
  
“You really want a sandwich, don’t you?”  
  
Addison nods eagerly. The adrenaline of pushing out a baby and its busy aftermath has started to wear off, leaving her positively famished. “I’m so hungry I’d honestly settle for _anything_ , but preferably a sandwich, chips, and the biggest Diet Dr. Pepper they’ve got.”   
  
“You got it. I’ll be right back. Don’t go anywhere.”  
  
“Don’t worry. We’ll be right here.”  
  
\------  
  
“Can I ask you a weird question?” Mark says that evening. Kate has just finished feeding, and one of her tiny hands is splayed against Addison’s chest as she blinks heavily.  
  
Addison quirks an eyebrow with equal parts intrigue and dread. “In my experience, Mark, those are the only kinds of questions you do ask. You’re kind of a disaster, that way.”  
  
“True,” he murmurs in agreement. “I was wondering when you were still laboring and Maggie asked if you wanted to feel, just…what did it feel like when you touched Kate’s head?”  
  
A charmed smile breaks across her face at the mention of her OB’s name. “Hey, you called her Maggie. But, oh.” Then she frowns. “ _That_. You really want to know?”  
  
Mark sighs. “I really do. It’s like when I put Derek’s favorite frog in the microwave. Was I going to press start? _No_. But did I have to see what Frogo Baggins would look like staring at me from inside the microwave with those creepy, bulging eyes? Yes. I feel like this is kind of the same thing. I just have to know.”  
  
“Well…honestly, it was gross. I know it’s my job and all, but I wear gloves and it’s just…different when your own body isn’t involved. So while I’m glad I felt her head, because it kind of brought me out of my _own_ head for a moment, it was basically like touching a slimy sea creature. A slimy sea creature who I loved and wanted to hold in my arms of course, but yeah. That. Still glad you asked?”  
  
“Yep.”  
  
“You’re a very strange person, Mark,” Addison smiles, growing thoughtful as she observes the silvery rain still collecting in loose brushstrokes on the window. “Man, what _is_ it with us and rain?”  
  
“I don’t know. Isn’t it good luck if you’re born on a rainy day though?” Mark inquires.  
  
“That’s just weddings, I think…which I missed the memo on, apparently,” she smirks.  
  
“I have a feeling the next one will be luckier.”  
  
Addison reveals a wide smile. “Yeah. Or maybe it’s just rain to symbolize the tears of all the hearts Kate is going to break.”   
  
“That would imply we allow her to date. And my vote is no. But Addison, it’s raining and it just…doesn’t matter,” Mark bows his head, smiling in disbelief. “It doesn’t matter because we’re together. And I have a family. _We_ have a family.”   
  
“We have a family,” Addison repeats, her voice becoming slurry as the exhaustion of today begins to catch up with her. “And now my eyes are going to fall asleep. Can you take her?”  
  
Mark makes a note to tease her about this wording later. “Yeah, of course. I just…” he breathes out anxiously. He held Kate previously while Addison scarfed down her sandwich, and two other times later in the afternoon, but that was different. His girlfriend’s hands might have been occupied, but she was awake and could have easily taken over if he needed help.   
  
“She’s probably going to fall asleep soon, so you can just put her in the bassinet once she’s down. Then you should get some sleep, too. And don’t be nervous, Mark,” Addison manages a tired, but supportive smile as he takes the sleepy infant in his arms, being careful to support her head. “You’ve got this. Your daughter already likes you and loves you. And it’s raining and she’s your family.”   
  
Mark shuffles slowly to a nearby chair, and Addison gives him a loopy grin and an uncoordinated thumbs-up before drifting off to sleep.  
  
“Hi, Kate,” he begins gently, cuddling her a little closer after getting her settled in the crook of his elbow. “Try to go easy on me this first time flying solo, okay?” His daughter blinks up at him with dark eyes, expression looking serious, as though she will perhaps take this into consideration.   
  
“You look so much like your mom,” Mark tells her, even though he isn’t _entirely_ convinced just yet. The hair, yes – they both seemed to know from the beginning that their kid would be a redhead. Her downy swirl of hair is currently hidden under a cream-colored hat though (a gift from Aunt Savvy and Uncle Weiss), and admittedly, Mark isn’t as sure about the rest of Kate’s features; he recalls the baby pictures of himself and Addison, and believes the chin might be his and the nose might be Addison’s, but honestly, it’s hard to tell, even from the perspective of a man whose line of work involves a lot of faces. Kate mostly just looks _new_. Her face is still a little puffy, her arms seem permanently tucked in front of her body, and her neck is lost beneath those chubby cheeks.   
  
Kate blinks again, then parts her lips opened and closed a few times as she stares up at him. Mark keeps talking as he gently rocks her. He is surprised that it doesn’t feel at all awkward to be having a conversation with someone who isn’t even twenty-four hours old yet.   
  
“I promise you’ll never have to turn all the lights on before you go to sleep,” he leans down and kisses the bridge of her nose (it’s Addison’s nose, he’s certain now). “Well, unless you want to turn them all on, that is. I have a feeling you’re going to be running the show once you’re a bit older. You and your mom both,” he briefly looks at Addison, who is curled on her left side, slumbering peacefully. “I’m kind of an easy mark for redheads.”  
  
Kate yawns, her bow-shaped lips stretching in a way that seems way too exaggerated for her petite, doll-like features (it is without a doubt the cutest thing Mark has ever seen though). She blinks up at him for a few more seconds, then her head droops a little as she falls asleep.  
  
“Sweet dreams, Katiebee,” he whispers. Mark knows he should get her settled in her bassinet and get some sleep himself, but he decides to hold her for just a few more minutes.   
  
He glances out the window, and notices the rain has stopped. The heavy clouds have parted. Stars now glitter and wink in the distance.   
  
\------


	25. Home

**Chapter 25. Home**  
  
“So…now what?” Mark asks, tone full of uncertainty as he looks at Addison.   
  
They have just returned to the apartment for the first time as a family of three, exhausted but happy. He sets the car seat containing a sleeping Kate down on kitchen table as he voices his query. His daughter stays asleep, but her lips twitch a little when the seat lands on the pedestal table.   
  
The past forty-eight hours have been a whirlwind of bonding with the baby, exams for both mom and baby (Mark was given permission to ask the pediatrician questions, but was warned in advance not to ask anything specific about Addison and her recovery in her follow-up exam), sleeping in short spurts, a standard screening test (Kate made it very clear she did not appreciate getting her heel pricked with a needle, and Addison almost cried because Kate cried), and signing forms. They have also been sending texts and pictures to their parents, and Weiss and Savvy. Addison sent a text to Josie and Charlene from work the morning after Kate was born, and Mark sent one to the Chief of Surgery along with a picture, which Addison imagines has already been printed and tacked to a bulletin board near the nurses’ station (she knows there’s still hospital gossip about her shacking up with Mark and getting pregnant like two seconds after that, but it’s hard to resist cute baby pictures). They plan to share the news of the baby’s arrival with everyone else on their “list” tonight or tomorrow, but for now are enjoying holding this information close to themselves.   
  
Addison shakes her head in response to Mark’s question, equally bewildered. “I guess we’re just…parents now.”  
  
“Should we move her from the car seat?”  
  
“As much as I hate to move her, yeah, we should. She’d be better in the bassinet. Do you mind doing it? I have the video monitor here, so we can hang out on the couch and try to watch TV when in reality we’re probably just going to stare at the monitor obsessively.”  
  
Mark nods, reaching into the car seat. He gently unbuckles Kate and lifts her into his arms (Addison has noticed that he is no longer nervous about picking the baby up and holding her, but he moves _so_ slowly about it).  
  
“Are you okay?” He asks when Kate is cuddled in his arms.  
  
Addison glances over. She was turning the video monitor on and feeling a postpartum contraction twinge through her at the same time, so she was a bit distracted, but given that Kate is sleeping peacefully (and can’t talk), she knows this question was directed to her. She assumes Mark also saw her wince.  
  
“Oh, you know,” she grimaces. “I pushed a baby out of my body forty-eight hours ago. I’ve been better, pain-wise.”  
  
“I’m sorry. You’re kind of my hero after all that, you know.” To Mark, everything about recovering from birthing a baby sounds like cleaning up a crime scene, except the clean-up part has to happen over and over again. He is wise enough not to share this thought with Addison though.   
  
“I’m kind of my hero too,” she grins. “I’ll be okay, eventually. Just come give me a very, very gentle and don’t-put-any-pressure-on-anything-from-my-hips-down hug after you put her in the bassinet.”  
  
While Mark carries Kate down the hall, Addison gingerly gets herself settled on the couch, cursing under her breath when she feels another short, sharp cramp in her uterus. She’s maxed out on Ibuprofen for the day, both due to involution and a myriad of other fun delivery-related reasons, so she nearly yells for Mark to grab the heating pad on his way back, but luckily remembers, _duh, there’s a baby here_ before she calls out _._  
  
She decides to tough it out for a bit (much easier to do once the cramp has waned) and busies herself with getting the monitor set up on the coffee table so they can both see it while they pretend to watch TV. Thankfully, she does not have to worry about making any adjustments, as she had Mark mount one of the cameras to their bedroom wall in a specific spot to ensure optimal viewing of the potential baby-filled bassinet. (She begrudgingly admits having Mark’s stupid CPR doll around one weekend was helpful, as they put the doll in the bassinet to serve as part of their “test-run” for checking out the camera’s image display and other features.)   
  
“Hey,” Mark says when he finally comes back to the living room. “Not sure if you saw on the monitor, but I definitely hovered over Kate for a few minutes longer than necessary. It’s just…hard not to just stare at her.”  
  
“You still can from out here,” Addison grins, tipping her chin towards the monitor. “And oh yes, I saw. I know I would have done the same thing though. Instead I just watched until I got all misty-eyed because seeing my baby and my baby’s daddy gives me a lot of feelings.”  
  
“Hopefully just happy ones.”  
  
She leans into Mark when he wraps an arm (very carefully) around her shoulders. “The happiest ones.”  
  
\------  
  
That evening, after a marathon of cluster feeding, Mark glances over at Addison once she’s finished securing her nursing bra and wrap top again (he has seen it all before, of course, but he can tell she’s still a little self-conscious, so he tries not to look during the beginning and end of the process).   
  
“So,” he begins. “I think now that we’ve told our parents and Weiss and Sav and a few people from work, maybe we should…?”  
  
“We should tell Derek,” Addison finishes. She wants to tell Carolyn and Derek’s sisters and send them pictures (it feels weird, but they did _ask_ ), yet it seems more appropriate to inform Derek first. “Do you want to text him the standard thing and picture?”  
  
“Yeah. Although…” he glances at Kate, and a smile slowly pulls his lips apart. He stands up. “One sec though. I have an idea.”  
  
She watches him walk down the hallway, and then redirects her attention to Kate, who is drowsily peering up at her. Kate is currently wearing a mint-colored onesie that says, “Hello, I’m New Here,” a gift they received from Carolyn Shepherd a few weeks ago (Addison snapped a few photos of Kate in the outfit, and plans to text them to Carolyn later).   
  
Addison releases a low sigh as Kate continues looking at her. “Your daddy has a good heart and he means well, but he has some very weird ideas, little one. You’ll find out soon enough.”   
  
“An outfit change,” Mark states when he walks back into the room, arms tucked behind his back for dramatic effect. “I have a _picture_ idea.”  
  
“An outfit change. A picture idea,” Addison repeats. “This isn’t going to be like a photo shoot thing, right? I told you – Savvy gave me the number for a photographer friend of hers. I’ll give her a call tomorrow to see when she’s available to come over to contort Kate into all these hilariously cute positions and take photos.”   
  
“Not a photo shoot,” Mark assures. He brings his hands back around to show Addison two different sets of baby booties. “These are the Seahawks ones Derek got her, and here’s the New York Giants ones we got for her. I’ll put one of each on her and send him a picture. I think he would like that.”  
  
Addison smirks in approval. “Actually that _is_ kind of funny.”  
  
“See?” He says proudly as he pulls off Kate’s polka dot socks to slip on the booties. Both he and Addison grin when Kate wiggles her toes. “Not _all_ my ideas are weird ones.”  
  
“Just most of them.”  
  
Mark shrugs – more or less in agreement – while he gets his phone out. He angles the phone close to Kate in order to capture a good shot, focused primarily on the booties. He takes the picture and deems it decent enough (he was determined to get it in one so Addison would not accuse him of turning this into a photo shoot). He then goes to a message he sent his mother and holds his finger over a text bubble to save himself the trouble of typing all the stats again, and pastes the text into a new message for Derek. He decides to omit the word _Sloan_ before sending the message; he is not sure if that makes a difference, since it is of course obvious that the baby has a last name, but he thinks it might be a little kinder to leave that out.  
  
 _Introducing Kate (short for Katherine). Born April 10th, 11:24 AM. 20 inches. 7 pounds, 5 ounces. Baby and Addison are both doing well._  
  
Mark attaches the picture of the booties as well as the picture they’ve been sending to loved ones – a shot captured from above of a few-hours-old, swaddled Kate in her hospital bassinet. Her head is angled to the right, eyes sleepy but open, one hand curled near her chin, and lips parted just a little (Addison later pointed out to Mark that he was making a near-identical expression in one of his baby pictures). He shows the screen to Addison, who gives a nod of approval to the words and pictures. He presses send, and then sets the phone down, not really prepared for a quick response, given that Derek is likely still at work.  
  
His phone vibrates about twenty minutes later, and he laughs when he reads the words on the lock screen. He opens the message and holds the phone out for Addison. She laughs as well when she sees what Derek texted:  
  
 _Does Addison know her daughter’s socks don’t match?_  
  
Nothing about this initial response surprises Mark, but before he can type something back, his screen reveals an incoming call from Derek. He gives Addison a surprised look, and then accepts the call.  
  
“Hey,” Mark says. “I was just about to text back to say that Addison’s aware, and she doesn’t like it.”   
  
“Sounds about right,” Derek responds in greeting. “I figured it would just be easier to call. So…Kate. She’s really cute. She looks like Addie. And congratulations. How is, um, parenthood going?” Derek laughs softly. “Sorry – I _care_ , obviously. It’s just a little awkward.”  
  
“I know. I kinda think…if we keep pushing through it, it might get easier? If we keep pushing? Man, the _look_ Addison is shooting me right now for saying that…” he says, and Derek chuckles.   
  
“The Mark-you’re-an-idiot look? I assume you’re used to that by now.”  
  
“Oh, I definitely am. It’s really the only look I get. Anyway, parenthood is good. Scary as shit and doesn’t involve much sleep, but good. She’s a good baby. Happy. Doesn’t cry a whole lot.”  
  
“Just no sticking her in the microwave. Hey, if Addie’s free, can I say hi to her?”  
  
“Yeah, of course. She’s right here.” Mark holds his cell out to Addison, and takes Kate from her arms in order to give her a break and use of both hands.   
  
“Hey, Derek,” Addison says.   
  
“Hey. I have a question first. Did you get an epidural?”  
  
“No. Why?”  
  
“No reason. I just figured you wouldn’t, that’s all. Anyway, congrats. She’s really beautiful, and I like the booties. You should be getting something else in the mail soon, too. Meredith knitted a hat for the baby – for Kate. It got sent out a little later than planned because Meredith’s new to knitting, so one of her roommates had to basically redo the whole thing once it was finished. That was Izzie – she’s an intern too. I don’t know if you remember her?”  
  
“I do remember,” Addison confirms. “She showed a real gift for my specialty. And that’s so kind of Meredith. Please thank her for me, and secretly thank Izzie as well.”  
  
“I will. Well, I should probably get going – I need to look over a few charts before I get out of here. I wanted to call as soon as I saw Mark’s text though. So. I…I guess our paths will cross again someday…”  
  
She groans. “God, Derek, are you and Mark competing to see who can make this conversation weirder?”  
  
“If yes, you know _he’d_ win,” Derek says, and she does not disagree. “I don’t mean…well, I’m sure I’ll be back there at some point, and maybe we can all get together for an awkward hangout and I can meet the baby. Or you’ll be here – you know Richard would contact you in a heartbeat for a tough case, and now that he knows you’re, uh, dating a well-regarded plastic surgeon, he’d probably be more than willing to fly him out as well for certain procedures.”   
  
“Well then, until our paths cross again, as you said…” Addison giggles. “You’ll pass on my thanks to Meredith – and her secret helper – for the hat, right? I’ll text you a picture of Kate wearing it once it arrives.”  
  
“I will,” Derek responds. “And I’ll…I’ll try to stay in touch, too. I think Mark – even though we both know he’s an absolute idiot and he’s wrong about so many things – is right about having to just keep pushing. I’d like to. I’m happy and everything, but it has recently come to my attention that I don’t have many guy friends. I feel like that’s something I should probably work on…which includes not losing old friends. Even bike-stealing ones.”  
  
Addison smirks. “I’ve actually decided that it’s _Kate’s_ bike now.”   
  
“I can live with that.”  
  
\------  
  
“Wow. Hello to you too, Mark,” Savvy jumps a little when Mark opens the door and thrusts a bottle of hand sanitizer at her and Weiss more forcefully than intended. Kate is now four days old, and they are her first visitors. “Don’t worry,” Savvy continues. “We know we need to sanitize. I just wasn’t expecting to nearly be punched in the face first.”  
  
“Sorry,” Mark says weakly. “Protective dad thing. Come in though. Your timing is perfect. She’s awake right now.”  
  
“Hey,” Addison readjusts her robe and smiles when Savvy makes her way over, Weiss trailing a little behind in order to say hello to Mark. “She just finished eating. I’ll do my best not to flash you guys.”  
  
Savvy shrugs mildly and takes a seat next to her. “Well, every adult in this room has seen _my_ boobs, so it’s probably not the worst thing,” her eyes lock on Kate, but she certainly has not forgotten about her friend. “So…how was it, Addie?”  
  
“Horrible,” Addison responds with a short laugh. “Worth it to get her – but horrible. Let’s just say that Kate’s not the only one in a diaper at the moment. I’ll share all the gory stuff later though when it’s just the two of us. In the meantime, are you ready to hold your goddaughter?”  
  
“Oh, she’s perfect,” Savvy remarks when Kate is placed in her arms, a bit fidgety but content, and releasing tiny sounds that Mark says make him think of what a just-hatched pterodactyl would sound like. “So perfect. And _beautiful_. Pictures did not do it justice. Good work, you two.”  
  
“Thank you. We’re biased, but we agree.” Addison watches as Weiss sits down on Savvy’s other side. He gently nudges at one of Kate’s closed fists with an index finger, and smiles when she grips his finger in response.   
  
“This _is_ a really, really cute kid,” Weiss says in agreement. “And hopefully at some point Savvy will pass her over so I can have a turn.”  
  
“Not anytime soon, I won’t. I’m obsessed.”  
  
“Well, this will be you guys soon enough,” Addison puts in softly. Her friends completed their adoption home study at the beginning of the month.  
  
“I hope so,” Savvy responds, thumbing Kate’s cheek. “In the meantime, we’re just going to love the crap out of this little one. Hey, I forgot to ask – what’s her middle name?”  
  
Addison looks over at Mark, and they answer at the same time: “Savannah.”  
  
“Katherine Savannah. That’s really pretty…” Savvy begins, then looks sharply over at Addison with wide eyes. “ _Oh_. Wait…Savannah is my name.”  
  
“So clearly Savvy _won’t_ be the one to help with homework,” Mark laughs. “That took about a second too long for you to catch on, Sav…”  
  
Savvy chooses to ignore Mark. “Oh, Addie. Really?”  
  
“Yes, really,” Addison squeezes her friend’s elbow. “I hope she grows up to be as strong and as funny and as thoughtful as her godmother. Maybe with a touch less inappropriate humor though.”  
  
“Sorry,” Savvy blinks hard, glancing up at the ceiling. “I’m so honored, but I’m going to desperately try to keep it together so I don’t cry on her.”  
  
Addison waves a hand dismissively. “Oh, please. Don’t worry about that. For starters, postpartum hormones are no joke, so there have already been tears splashed on her. And that’s nothing compared to everything else. We’ve had crumbs land on her head already. It’s hard to breastfeed and eat at the same time…though I don’t know what _Mark’s_ excuse is.”  
  
\------


	26. Phase and Flow

**Chapter 26. Phase and Flow**  
  
“Time’s up,” Mark gives a short knock on the door and steps into Kate’s room. More accurately, he steps into a world of throbbing headaches on nights like this. The bedroom light is dimmed and a white noise machine on top of the bookcase hums steadily. The smart speaker ran out of charge a few minutes ago while running through an instrumental playlist they really need to modify, petering out somewhere near the end of Brahms’ Lullaby. Addison blinks up at Mark, relief and fatigue displayed in her eyes.   
  
“Oh, thank _God_ ,” Addison says from the rocking chair, then cringes, feeling a rush of guilt. She tips her head to the side to nuzzle her nose against her daughter’s temple. Her crying-at-the-top-of-her-lungs-for-forty-minutes-now daughter. “Sorry, little one. Mommy loves you more than anything. But it’s Mommy’s turn for a break.”  
  
The first few days of parenthood were exhausting in their own unique way (days seemed like nights and nights seemed like days and eventually it all just bled together), but weeks two and three have brought forth new challenges. They have settled into a routine of sorts, but for at least half the evenings over the past week Kate has been colicky, which has left her utterly inconsolable; despite their best efforts, there isn’t much they can do other than continue to try to soothe her in every way they have heard or read might help.   
  
It has gotten easier to accept that this is _just something that happens_ , and isn’t a reflection of their parenting, but watching their daughter’s face redden and eyebrows furrow while she releases ear-splitting wails – much louder than her “normal” cries – and the way she waves her clenched fists as though to express displeasure is really sad to see. If nothing else, they know colic tends to go away on its own, but it definitely doesn’t feel that way when you’re near-delirious from lack of sleep and your baby’s screams are about to blow your eardrums apart.   
  
After a few tense _I’m-not-mad-at-you-but-I’m-going-to-act-mad-at-you-anyway_ interactions between Mark and Addison while they passed a fussy Kate back-and-forth, they have worked out a system to ensure they each get to maintain some degree of sanity while a meltdown is going on. The parent on Kate Duty stays in Kate’s room with her, and the other parent utilizes their coping mechanism of choice for a period of twenty minutes before the roles switch. Mark prefers to rest his head on the kitchen table, while Addison’s form of self-care is to sit down in the walk-in closet with a spoon and a jar of peanut butter.   
  
“Anything new?” Mark asks, making his way over to them and raising his voice to be heard over Kate’s crying. He grabs a fresh burp cloth off the changing pad, throws it over his shoulder, and watches as Addison shakes her head, continuing to rock. She rubs a hand over Kate’s fuzzy hair.  
  
“A little spit-up a few minutes ago,” she tells him. “Other than that…I’ve mostly had her against my shoulder…she likes the rocking. Oh, and I sang ‘Wildflowers’ and ‘All I Have to Do Is Dream,’ several times in a row. I wouldn’t say it made things _better_ , but I didn’t feel like it made things worse, and it was nice to hear something other than crying and white noise. I swear those are the only two songs in the history of the world that I know right now. Her colic has robbed me of brain cells. So has sleep deprivation. I can’t _think_ anymore.”  
  
“Hey, Katiebee,” Mark murmurs, lifting her off her mother. “And you,” he says to Addison when she slowly pushes to her feet. “You go get your peanut butter and relax for a bit. I’ll come get you when I need a breather.”  
  
“Thank you. Hey, did we…” Addison frowns, lost in thought for a moment. Thinking continues to be difficult. There is no thinking. “Did we eat dinner?”  
  
“I…I have no idea. I’m guessing no?”  
  
They both laugh at this – they _have_ to laugh – because otherwise there would be a lot more frustration and tears, especially from Addison. She is doing well and is in a good head space, but postpartum hormone drops are a special kind of hell, she’s still sore, and while breastfeeding is _working_ and for that she’s grateful, it hasn’t been particularly easy to adjust to and she still dreads feedings at least half the time.  
  
“I’ll order something,” Addison says. “What do you want?”  
  
“Silence, mostly.”  
  
She returns Mark’s weak smile with a matching one. “Same. Along with not having sore nipples and not having _torn_ and not having to use a squirt bottle. But I guess we can’t always get what we want, right? Oh, wait – I know _three_ songs. That’s something. Well, Mark…” Addison inhales deeply as he gets settled in the rocking chair, Kate hiccuping into his neck. “May the odds be ever in your favor. I’m going to go scream into a pillow and then I’ll order us some food.”  
  
\------  
  
Addison eases on to the chaise section of the sofa, feeling her eyes grow heavy as she stretches her legs out. She can no longer tell if she is actually hearing Kate crying or just thinks she is. This part, the _crying baby part_ , is difficult and emotional and it really, really sucks, but even when they are drowning in it, she is still able to think about everything _good_. Kate is more alert now. She can turn her head slightly to follow voices, and seems fascinated when her parents talk to her. Her silky hair, the same shade Addison’s was as a baby, sometimes pokes up at funny angles. Her eyes are open more now – _Mark’s eyes_ , Addison thinks – and are constantly taking in her surroundings. She does okay with “tummy time” on her play mat. She appears relatively interested when Mark waves her stuffed elephant or a knitted rattle near her, and incredibly interested when they show her picture books. She makes the cutest little gurgling and cooing sounds. They have started to take walks around the neighborhood, utilizing either the stroller or sling, and they can tell Kate loves being outside. And she wiggles happily during bath time, flexing her arms and legs when water is poured over her round belly.   
  
Addison falls asleep reminding herself of All The Good Things. The next thing she is aware of is that the sofa is sinking beside her, and a strong arm is wrapping around her shoulders. She opens her eyes to see Mark offering her a small smile.   
  
“She’s asleep?” She suspects Mark stayed with Kate longer than twenty minutes, but she feels grateful rather than guilty, because sleep is amazing, and because things like getting Kate to go down are huge parenting confidence boosts for him.  
  
“She is,” Mark tugs a throw blanket over them and presses a slow, lazy kiss to her lips. “Either I did something right, or she just finally cried it all out.”  
  
“Probably a combination of both. Good job. The colic will get better eventually. And at least we’re not…” Addison is too lazy to lean all the way forward to tap her knuckles on the coffee table, so she raises a fist to knock invisible wood instead. “At least we’re not dealing with it _every_ night.”   
  
“True. It’s nice to know we haven’t broken her.”  
  
“Nope. It’s just that she’s attempting to break us. Also, I think we’re having cereal for dinner. I fell asleep before I could figure out what to order.”   
  
“Fine with me. Hey, when I was singing ‘Rock the Casbah’ to Kate, she was making those funny gurgling sounds she does, and just…I _know_ it was just gurgling, and that it had to be my sleep-deprived brain playing tricks on me, but it really did sound like she was giggling.”  
  
“Who could blame her? It’s kind of a stupid song.” Addison strokes her chin thoughtfully. “Remember when it was just the two of us and there was sleeping? I love her so much my heart could explode and I already miss her even though she’s just one room away, but holy shit am I tired. And sometimes…obviously I love her every minute of every day, but when she’s like this, I love her _most_ when she is sleeping.”  
  
“Same. Addison, is it weird for you that I’m no longer the person in this family most likely to drive you crazy? I’m not number one anymore.”  
  
“Honey, it’s sweet that you think that, but it’s just not true. I haven’t forgotten about yesterday, you know.”  
  
“The cabbage,” he says, assuming that is what Addison is referring to. It was at the top of her grocery list, because _apparently_ (Mark does not understand why, and knows he would be yelled at for asking questions about it) cold cabbage leaves can reduce inflammation caused from breastfeeding.   
  
“Yes. Because what did you say to me when you saw me, well, _wearing_ the cabbage?”  
  
“That that look _leaves_ nothing to the imagination,” he smirks. “And I stand by what I said.”  
  
“Which is why you’re still number one.”  
  
\------  
  
“I think you’re missing someone,” Mark teases Addison a few days later when she returns to the living room with empty arms. They have a spare bassinet set up in the living room now, and the sofa has basically become their second bed. The floor might as well be lava, given how little they get off the sofa these days.   
  
“She’s in the microwave.”  
  
“Start button is at the bottom,” he quips back. “Or try the popcorn setting.”  
  
Addison grins. “She went down pretty easy, so I figured I’d put her in the crib for the afternoon. She’ll probably be up around four or four-fifteen. I was thinking that in the meantime we could…” her cheeks flush. “We could fool around? I just…I can’t even remember the last time we kissed with tongue. And I showered today. And I brushed my hair and teeth. And these are pajamas, yes, but they’re clean pajamas. And I’m wearing a regular bra, not a cabbage one. Well, not a _regular_ bra, but -”  
  
“Addison,” he laughs and holds his arms out for her to join him. “Stop giving me a play-by-play and get over here so I can fool around with you.”  
  
“There are some rules for this though,” she says, giggling when he smoothly pulls her down into his lap. She tosses her hair a little, flirting.   
  
“Good, because you know how much rules turn me on. Almost as much as when you play with your hair like that,” he teases, leaving a string of kisses along her jawbone and curling his arms around her waist. She laughs again when he tugs her closer.   
  
“Wait,” Addison places her hands on his shoulders, flexing her fingers to get his attention. “Just kissing, Mark. Well, you can do what you want with your hands, I guess, provided they’re _nowhere near_ my boobs or crotch. I’m not ‘there’ yet. Also, I’m not cleared for sex yet, just so you’re aware.”  
  
“I didn’t just _assume_ we were having sex right now, you know. But, uh, just for my own knowledge…how much longer until you’re cleared?”  
  
“My appointment with Maggie is in two weeks. Hang in there.”  
  
“I can hang in there,” he mumbles against her mouth. “You’re worth it.”  
  
“You bet your ass I am,” she grins, parting his lips with her tongue.  
  
\------  
  
“Not that I’m complaining…but what was that about?” Mark brushes his lips to the crown of her head and traces his hand over her hip, fingers warm as they continue to slink under her notch collar top. They’re lying down now, wrapped in each other’s arms and breathing in a way that indicates they’re a bit out of practice. Kate, by some miracle, is still sleeping. “Again, _not_ complaining. It’s just…been a while, and I wasn’t expecting my really hot girlfriend to be squirming around in my lap while we were going at it like teenagers.”  
  
“I don’t know,” she answers, drawing her hands near her mouth. If they leave the apartment tomorrow, she’s definitely going to need to wear a turtleneck or do _something_ to cover up the reddish mark blooming on her neck. His assessment that they were going at it like teenagers is accurate.   
  
“You don’t know or you’re from Connecticut?”   
  
“It’s not the Connecticut thing,” Addison giggles. “I don’t know, really. I just…I feel good today. I’m less sore at the moment. Latching hasn’t been an issue lately. The sun felt nice when we were walking through Central Park with her this morning. And I was able to take a long shower and I had four uninterrupted hours of sleep last night.”  
  
“Addison.” His hand rubs over her stomach, but he brings it back to her hipbone when he feels her tense a bit. “You know I’m still interested, right?”  
  
A smile plays at her lips when Mark says this. “I could definitely tell you were interested.”   
  
“Well, it’s a little unfair to sit between my legs and move your hips around like that and make all sorts of breathy noises and expect me not to have _some_ sort of reaction, but I just meant that…I’m still interested in you. Even on the days where you don’t shower or brush your hair – not that I’m consistent about those things either anymore. I’ve kinda been letting you take the lead on the physical stuff, but…it’s not like I don’t _think_ about it. You’re still beautiful, Addie. Before, during, and after having a baby. That hasn’t changed. Okay?”  
  
“Okay. Thank you, Mark,” she whispers, fiddling with the elastic waist of her maternity lounge pants. She _knows_ he thinks she still looks good, that he’s still interested, and the way he was all over her earlier (after she initiated it, at least) is confirmation enough, but adjusting to this “new normal” - since realistically there isn’t a “going back to normal” after giving birth - is still an adjustment. And not an easy one. Savvy used to tell her that she had the metabolism of a marathon runner without doing the actual marathons. Now it is different. There’s swelling, soreness. There is a looseness and sagginess to her skin that wasn’t there before. There are stretch marks, pink ladder rungs on her hips, and darker, longer ones spread over her stomach. And there’s leakiness. A shocking amount of leakiness. And she thinks she still looks pregnant, maybe 20 weeks or so. Her abdominal muscles feel weak. And while _stronger, not thinner_ should always be the goal in navigating a post-delivery world and she would tell that to any postpartum patient expressing insecurities about her body, it’s still an adjustment. She also recognizes that she grew up in a world (the non-hands part of the Connecticut thing) where she was supposed to _be_ and _act_ and _look_ a certain way – and that doesn’t necessarily go away just because you’re a grownup. And she reminds herself that for the last two years of her marriage, her husband hardly ever touched her, which often left her to wonder if it was something about _her_ that was causing the space between them. That’s something to factor in too, so she knows she needs to cut herself a little slack. Again, it’s an adjustment.   
  
“You’re welcome,” Mark replies, giving her elbow a light, comforting squeeze. “Should I…would it help if I told you that more often?”  
  
Addison gives him a sheepish look. “I think you might need to for a little bit.”  
  
“Consider it done. And by the way…Mother’s Day is next Sunday. Is there anything in particular you want? Katiebee was incredibly unhelpful when I asked her what she thought we should get you.”  
  
“Just sleep.” They’ve gone four days in a row without a Mount Vesuvius-level crying jag from Kate, but sleep is still all Addison desires. “Oh, and I think it would be nice if you called both your mother and Carolyn and wished them a Happy Mother’s Day. We could call Carolyn together, actually.”  
  
“The Carolyn part isn’t the problem for me…” Mark grimaces. “But…okay, fine. I’ll call my mom. And well, as far as what to get _you_ , Savvy suggested -”  
  
“Wow. I love that girl, but she sure is a meddler.”  
  
“Yeah, although it’s appreciated sometimes. I knew Mother’s Day was coming up, but I’ve definitely been a zombie, so the reminder was nice. I really need to get my ass in gear, otherwise I’m not going to survive when I start back at work. Anyway, Sav suggested you go get a massage with her or something.”  
  
“That sounds really nice – and I love that it involves her, that’s just _classic_ Sav – but I…I don’t think I’m ready to leave Kate yet,” she stares at him, eyes anxious. “It’s not you; it’s me.”  
  
Mark understands what she’s trying to say, but can’t resist teasing her. “Wow, you’re really using that line on me?”  
  
She offers a small smile. “No, really. It isn’t you. You’re incredible with her. I just…I don’t feel ready to go somewhere without her yet. Nowhere that I couldn’t escape in like a half hour, at least.”  
  
“Okay. I get that.”  
  
“The Yankees game is my deadline,” she adds. “June sixth. I don’t really want to bring a two month old to a baseball game. We can leave her with Sav and Weiss that afternoon. I know you’d prefer to turn her into a Red Sox hater as soon as possible -”  
  
“Well, she shares DNA with me, so she was born hating the Red Sox. That’s not an issue. And actually, I don’t want to bring her either. I thought I would, but now that she’s here, she’s just too little and that’s so many people to be around. We’re…we’re becoming _those_ parents, aren’t we?”  
  
“Looks like it. At least for now, anyway. But as far as Mother’s Day…I’d just like to spend the day with you two. And sleep. Oh – and you know that keepsake with her inked hands and footprints? We need to hang that. And go back through the photos that Darcy –”  
  
“ _Who_?”  
  
“The photographer, Mark. The photographer who was here last week and took pictures of our daughter. And us with our daughter. You were there.”  
  
“I was also _tired_ , honey. And my daughter spit up in my mouth that morning, and yeah, Sam and Naomi _said_ that would happen, but it was still really awful, so you’ll have to forgive me if some of the details of that day are a bit hazy. Anyway, keep going. You want to go through the photos…?”  
  
“Yes. Go back through the photos Darcy emailed and print some of Kate to hang. I for sure want the one where she’s in the Moses basket and wearing that cute little headband. Oh, and we should definitely print some with the _three_ of us to commemorate the one day in the past three weeks I’ve worn any semblance of makeup. And we need to write thank you cards for all the gifts –”  
  
“Addison?” He interrupts. Lack of sleep has cut down on how much information he can retain. The rambling doesn’t help. “Just write down a to-do list for me and we’ll tackle it all for your first Mother’s Day.”  
  
“A to-do list,” she giggles. “That’s such a… _dad_ thing.”  
  
“Well, unless there’s something you’re not telling me, I’m pretty sure I am a dad.”  
  
She leans forward to kiss his shoulder. “Nothing I’m not telling you. But, Mark? There, well, _is_ something else I want to tell you.”   
  
He taps her on the nose. “Tell me something else.”  
  
“It. Um. We were talking about Mother’s Day, which is the tenth. And I just wanted you to know that on the seventh it will be, or would have been, my anniversary with Derek. I’m okay. I just…wanted you to know that, I guess.” They got married the day before Mother’s Day, deciding it wasn’t that big a deal because it’s not like May seventh would always fall on the second Saturday in May. Addison had remembered joking at the time that when they had kids, it would be easy enough for Derek to combine their anniversary and Mother’s Day.   
  
“I’m glad you told me. And it’s okay if you’re not all the way okay, too.”  
  
“Thank you. You can probably just give me an extra-long hug next Thursday,” she makes a noise of surprise when his arms tighten around her and she’s buried further into his chest. “Mark, what are you doing? I said _next_ Thursday.”  
  
“Too bad,” he replies. “You’re getting an extra-long hug right now too. Accept the hug, Addison.”   
  
“Well, thank you,” she says gratefully. Once he relaxes his arms a bit, Addison reaches a hand up to cup his cheek, his stubble (more than usual because manscaping has taken a backseat to caring for a newborn) feeling rough beneath her palm. “This is a real nice moment we’re having right now, you know. And I’m going to be pissed if our kid wakes up…”  
  
Mark grins, finishing her thought. “And ruins it? This is the exact kind of moment a kid is _supposed_ to ruin, right? It’s kind of cool, if you think about it.”  
  
“I’m thinking about it,” Addison’s lips twitch as she _tries_ to think – this time though, she doesn’t feel that her lack of ability to fully embrace cognitive skills lately has anything to do with this. “And I’m not sure I understand.”  
  
“It’s like…it’s like when she was born and it was raining and we didn’t care because we were a family. And with this…it’s just that we have a _kid_ , Addison. We have a kid and she’s going to ruin so many nice moments for us, you know?” Mark grins and shrugs a shoulder. “Sorry. Lack of consistent sleep is making me dumber. I don’t know what I’m saying anymore. Does that even make sense?”  
  
“It does, Mark. I get it,” Addison replies, feeling her heart patter quicker. She thinks of a particular line in one of the books they’ve been reading to Kate: _I’ll love you forever, I’ll like you for always_.   
  
\------


	27. Gravity

**Chapter 27. Gravity**  
  
“That’s cute, right?” Addison holds her phone out to show Mark the picture she just took. The focus of the picture is Kate, of course (it never _isn’t_ now), who is propped up in her father’s arms, but a lush spring morning in Central Park is featured in the background. Cotton candy-shaded cherry trees stand tall, their fallen petals littering the grass like confetti.  
  
“Yes. Helps that the subject is cute,” Mark taps Kate on her button nose. She lifts her head towards him, tongue comically poking out of her mouth as she concentrates on maintaining eye contact. “Although I do really like this hat,” he adds.   
  
“Me too.” Addison can tell the hat their daughter is wearing was probably a bit ambitious for a novice knitter like Meredith. Lavender, white, and light blue strands have been pulled neatly together (the neatness is the result of Izzie’s covert follow-up surgeries), and little bear ears are stitched near the top.  
  
Addison considered asking Derek for Meredith’s number so she can text _her_ the picture of Kate, but she thinks this may be pushing too hard. Or it may just be intrusive, especially when the intern is probably feverishly studying for her licensing exam. She settles for texting Derek the picture and the original message, telling him to thank Meredith again.  
  
“She also tends to photograph better now that she’s less of a blob,” Mark adds.   
  
Addison nudges him, feigning offense on Kate’s behalf, but she knows it is true. At one month of age, Kate _is_ less of a blob now. She has a personality and is a bit more active. She has become a “talker,” peppering her communication attempts with squeaks, hums, gurgles, and other nasally sounds that her parents cannot get enough of. Her voice includes different pitches to her cries, too: the choky, low-pitched one is a sign of hunger; the whiny one – they have tried to figure out a nicer way to put this, but they’re coming up empty – means she’s tired; and the colicky one, of course, is just a cry that doesn’t end.  
  
Kate likes to look at her parents’ faces and likes to touch her own (she has hit herself in the face on more than one occasion). She loves her pacifier and loves to hold the ears of her stuffed elephant. She also had her first well-baby appointment this past Friday (Mark was true to his word and gave Addison an extra-long hug that day), and as they expected, her physician determined she was a perfectly healthy baby, now up two pounds.  
  
Addison takes Kate back into her arms. Her daughter’s fingers immediately curl around her cardigan. “And how lucky am I that my non-blob kid is exactly a month old on my first Mother’s Day.”  
  
“Pretty lucky. You haven’t even gotten to the present part yet.” He bought a milestone blanket for Addison so she can take a picture of Kate each month next to the appropriate number scripted into the blanket (the suggestion came from Savvy, courtesy of Pinterest, because Mark for damn sure had never heard of such a thing before).  
  
“The to- _do_ list part,” Addison clarifies. “I told you not to get me anything.”  
  
“And you thought I would listen?”  
  
She smirks. “No, I guess not. Do you want to put her back in the stroller and walk around the Reservoir? She probably won’t be hungry for another hour or so. And it’s just so nice out.”  
  
“Well, it’s your day.”  
  
“I could get used to hearing that. And before you ask…” Addison shakes her head when she sees Mark’s mouth round in a question. She busies herself with getting Kate settled in the carry cot attached to the stroller. “Yes, I can do the whole loop…I think. I’ll tell you if I’m getting too tired. But I _have_ been walking every day and doing yoga at home, so it should be fine.”  
  
“Alright. Sounds good,” he says, watching Addison become distracted as she stares in the direction of the playground they are sitting by, where a toddler with red ribbons holding up her pigtails is being pushed in a bucket swing by her mother. Addison’s expression becomes thoughtful.   
  
“Look, Mark,” she says. “That’s going to be us someday.”  
  
Mark snorts. “More like _that_ is,” he points out a little boy on the other side of the playground. The boy’s face is smeared with dirt and he has just begun a headfirst descent down a spiral slide. Something between a joyous laugh and a scream escapes his mouth, a sound five times too loud for his tiny frame. “That idea has Mark Sloan’s kid written all over it.”  
  
“Damn. You’re probably right.”  
  
\------   
  
“Hey, Ad? Are you going to be okay with me going back to work? I could take more time off, or I could always reduce my hours or something…” Mark watches for her reaction as she interacts with Kate on the play mat, dipping a stuffed otter to Kate’s chest, and then pulling it back up for Kate to see. Their daughter wiggles happily each time this occurs.   
  
Mark is a little over a week away from going back to work. The thought of _not_ being here with them all day is making him more emotional than he thought it would.  
  
Addison shakes her head. “No, it’s okay. One of us should probably go save some lives. When it’s toughest with this little love bug, it’s always in the evenings, and you’ll be home then…even though holding a screaming kid after a long day in the OR isn’t necessarily the ideal situation to come home to.”  
  
“What about the nanny thing?” He asks. “Maybe we could look into getting one earlier than planned…even if it’s just for a few hours a week?”  
  
“I’m not going back to work until July, so we still have time. Josie gave me the number of an agency she used – and she’s really happy with her kids’ nanny. I’ll get on that sometime early next month. Mark?” She blinks sadly at him, and then looks away when she feels her eyes start to well up. Postpartum hormones continue to be an unpredictable monster. “Are you bringing up the nanny thing because it’s just going to be me at home? And you don’t think that I…?”  
  
Mark quickly takes her hand. “I’m bringing it up because you’re an _amazing_ mom, but that’s still a long time to be stuck with a baby solo and not have a break. I’d feel the same way if our roles were reversed. We don’t have to use someone now though if you don’t want to, honey. Just promise you’ll tell me if you desperately need some alone time? You’re great at a lot of things, but asking for help usually isn’t one of them.”  
  
“Are you about to imply that’s a weakness of mine?” Addison looks back at him now with a lighthearted smile, the flash of sadness gone as quickly as it arrived.  
  
“Hell no, because you don’t have any weaknesses,” he responds, grinning back at her. “You’re that good.”  
  
“Good answer. So what’s _your_ weakness? If you have one, I mean.”  
  
“I’m an easy mark for evil redheads.”  
  
“Yeah, you kind of are,” Addison giggles. “Well, I promise I’ll tell you if it’s too much and my evil self needs a break from this little _angel_ redhead.”   
  
\------  
  
“By the way,” Addison begins. She hesitates for a breath, getting the sense her doctor is not all that interested in what she has to say right now. Maggie is a bit preoccupied with cooing at the redheaded baby she delivered six weeks ago. “While I’m here can you insert a copper IUD for me? I meant to ask you that sooner in case you don’t have time, but it completely slipped my mind.”  
  
“Oh, yeah. Of course,” Maggie pulls herself to her feet, because while she _would_ prefer to continue to engage with Kate as the little girl happily waves her arms around in chaotic motions, she really does have a job to do.   
  
Mark cuts in before Maggie can say anything else. “An IUD?”  
  
“Well. Would you like another baby right now, Mark?” Addison deadpans.  
  
“No…”  
  
“And would you like to wear condoms?”  
  
“ _Addison_ ,” he tips his head down to Kate, who is now batting at the wrap-around toy knotted around the handle of her car seat. “Not in front of our child.”  
  
“I think she’s bringing this up _because_ of said child, Mark,” Maggie laughs.  
  
“We need something. And yesterday I walked around all day with spit-up in my hair and my shirt on backwards, so I don’t really trust myself to remember to take the pill every day.” Addison gives him a pointed look. Not taking it consistently was what led to Kate, after all.   
  
“No worries. We can definitely do that once I’ve examined you, Addie,” Maggie assures.  
  
“Perfect. And _you_ ,” she gives Mark a joking (but also serious) smirk. “Get outta here. You were just in here to reintroduce Maggie to the most beautiful and brilliant baby she’s ever delivered. And now you need to take our kid and leave for a few minutes. You’ve seen enough medical vagina-related things from me this year.”  
  
\------  
  
They finally try a few nights later, at first on pause because of the mild cramps from the IUD insertion, and then for various Kate-related reasons. But now Kate is asleep in her crib and the baby monitor is on. They do not _expect_ any interruptions since they just put her down and she has been sleeping for four-hour stretches during the night for about three weeks now, but they know it is still a possibility, so it takes a moment for Mark and Addison to relax and focus on _this_ moment.   
  
“I feel like I’m a teenager again,” Addison smiles shyly against his mouth, pulling back.  
  
Mark quietly retracts his hand from where it was buried under her shirt. She had seemed comfortable at first, giggly and affectionate and definitely _into this_ (the glass of red wine helped) when she scooted over to him and kissed him deeply, a kiss filled with desire and expectation. But now she is tense again. The rigidity settled in shortly after his fingers began moving upwards, dancing over the dips of her ribs. Mark knows what at least part of the problem is, and her insecurity makes him sadder for her than he can put into words.  
  
“Since when were _you_ having sex in high school?” He tries to banter back to help her relax. He brings a hand up to affectionately stroke her hair.  
  
“I wasn’t,” she replies with a grin. “Braces and the lisp and _Star Wars_ , remember? Sex came later. Then came good sex. Then came –”  
  
“Sex with Mark Sloan?”   
  
“I was going to say _really_ good sex, but yes, you’re correct. One and the same. I meant…just. The general feeling of being awkward in your skin. And feeling self-conscious. Not that you probably ever experienced that,” she says, prompting him to sigh in sympathy.   
  
“We don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to, Addison.”  
  
She manages a weak smile. “I think you said some sort of variation of that the first weekend I slept over here.”  
  
“I meant it then, although probably more reluctantly. And I mean it now. Birthing a kid is a big fucking deal and your body went through a lot. It’s fine if you’re not ready yet.”  
  
“I…yeah. I don’t think I’m ready yet,” she sinks her teeth against the inside of one of her cheeks. “I’m sorry.”  
  
“Don’t be. Want me to rub your back?”  
  
There is another weak smile. “Well, since nothing else is going to be rubbed…”   
  
“It really _is_ okay, Addie. But is it just a self-conscious thing, or is it a fear thing too? It might help if I knew.”  
  
“A fear thing?”  
  
“It’s just that I read -”  
  
“Oh, God. I hate when you read. Are you going to say something gross now that will embarrass me?” A long pause filters through the air. Addison groans, pressing her thumb to the bridge of her nose. “Fine. Just say what you’re going to say.”  
  
“Well, first of all, I didn’t _read_ it. I asked Maggie if there’s anything I should know when you took Kate to the bathroom to change her diaper after your appointment.”  
  
“Great. Somehow that’s worse.”  
  
Mark shrugs at her. “Hey, at least I wasn’t the one bringing up sex in front of our _daughter_. But anyway, I’m just saying that if I need to pick up some lube or something -”  
  
“Oh my God, _Mark!_ ”  
  
“I’m telling you what Maggie told me,” he says in defense, fighting back a chuckle. “There’s a chance there will be dryness and more sensitivity -”  
  
“Ew, no! Mark, you have to stop,” Addison shrieks, half-laughing and half wanting to cry. She tugs the comforter over her head, cocooning herself in a safe place where this conversation no longer has to happen. “This is my line of work, so obviously I know these things already. And I swear to God, if you come home with sixty fluid ounces of Astroglide or something -”  
  
“Okay, first of all, bull _shit_ do they have a bottle that is _sixty_ fluid ounces. What the hell stores are you going to? That’s like the equivalent of a two-liter coke,” he touches the top of her head from above the covers. “And Addison, we have to be grownups and have a conversation about this. I bring this stuff up because you _won’t._ You could do this with a patient, so you have to at least try with me so I can understand. I’m coming under now. This is Vermont.”  
  
“What the hell are you talking about?” Addison sighs, offering him a confused look when his head pops under the comforter.   
  
“You’re from Connecticut. You don’t talk about this stuff with your boyfriend. I’m from New York and I talk about this stuff an alarming amount. So now we’re in Vermont. It’s a nice, safe middle ground. They have great maple syrup and guys named Ben and Jerry. I’ll try not to say anything gross, but you have to meet me halfway. Under the covers equals Vermont. And in Vermont we talk about what you’re feeling about potentially having sex after having a baby. Because you have thoughts and feelings about it, and while I can guess what those are, it would be so much easier on the both of us if you just tried to talk to me about it.”  
  
Addison closes her eyes briefly, and reaches out to lace her fingers through his. “Okay. I think…I think it’s more of a mental hurdle than anything else. I’m not afraid about the pain or anything, if that’s what you were asking. I expect there to be some discomfort at first, and I guess that makes me a little nervous, but it’s not a _debilitating_ kind of nervousness, and realistically it’s nothing compared to pushing a human out of my body. It’s not the fear thing. It’s the other thing. The self-conscious thing.”  
  
“Okay. Tell me about the self-conscious thing.”  
  
“It’s a two-parter. It’s knowing that sex isn’t going to be the same as it was before she was born. It will be different, and I don’t know what _different_ will be like – if it will feel good for me, for you, for us. And it’s also knowing that it will be different because I don’t _look_ like what I looked like before I had her.”  
  
“Okay. The first one. You’re right; it’ll be different. And I know it will be tough for you to stay out of your head so you’re gonna be stressed about that. Just remember that sex is the finish line, not the start line. We’ll build up to it. We’re good at that. And if it’s just the building up part we focus on for a while, that’s fine. It’ll still be _good_ , Addison.”   
  
She levels him with a knowing stare, and is somehow able to smile. “And you like the building up part, from what I can recall.”   
  
“Indeed I do. And the other part: no, you don’t look exactly what you looked like before you had Kate. You can’t yet – it hasn’t even been two months. But you look incredible…and I know you probably won’t believe me, but somehow you look even _better_ to me than you did pre-baby because I love you more for having our kid. You’ve still got it, Addison,” he flips the comforter back, pulling it off their heads. “You’re beautiful. And you’re a stone cold fox and wildly attractive. But I know me thinking that doesn’t automatically make you think that too.”  
  
“Yeah. I’m working on it. And I know I’ll get there,” she swallows hard when her voice cracks. “Today’s just not the day.”  
  
“No, it’s not. Now it’s a back rub day, which is fine. And I have a dry shoulder if you need to cry a little bit, too,” Mark offers.   
  
She takes him up on the offer, not able to stop a few discouraged sniffles from coming, even though he holds her tight and assures her it is okay, it is not a rush, that she will _know_ when she is ready, and they can try again when she is.  
  
\------  
  
They try again. About a week later, Addison walks into their bedroom once Mark has given her permission; he had asked her to wait in the kitchen. The drapes have been pulled closed. Two candles she bought ages ago but never lit now flicker from the dresser, flames shadowing through the room’s dimness. Quiet instrumental music, literal music to her ears because it is something different from the songs they play for Kate over and over again, is humming in the background. A few pillows and towels have been lined up on the bed as some sort of makeshift massage table, she suspects.   
  
Addison was certain that June sixth – the Yankees game – would be the first time she would feel able to leave Kate for anything other than a quick errand, but she woke up on the last Saturday of May and something felt different to her. It didn’t feel as _impossible_ anymore to separate herself from her daughter for a bit. She asked Mark if he maybe wanted to get lunch, just the two of them, if Savvy and Weiss were around and willing to watch Kate for a few hours. Savvy and Weiss were of course more than happy to watch their goddaughter, and although Addison was a little teary-eyed when they left her friends’ townhome, she was able to recover over an appetizer. Savvy in particular was glad Addison was going _somewhere_ other than for a walk in Central Park, and she spent a long time fawning over her friend’s silk top with a generous scoop neckline and a flattering pair of straight leg (maternity) jeans. She encouraged Mark and Addison to stay out as long as they wanted, and to just let her know when they wanted to come pick up Kate.  
  
And after a lovely, peaceful lunch at Grazie, they came back to the apartment, deciding to take a nap before heading to pick up their daughter. _And apparently a massage_ , Addison thinks. Her lips peel back in a slow smile as she looks around the room.  
  
“Are you trying to seduce me, Mark Sloan?” She asks.  
  
“I’m _trying_ to give you a massage because your back muscles have been as tight as a drum lately. And our kid isn’t here so we don’t have to worry about being interrupted. Don’t think ahead, Addie,” he shakes his head. “It’s just a massage, and a potential nap. Oh, and my phone is on the dresser. ‘Do Not Disturb’ mode is on for everyone except Sav and Weiss. Now lie down and relax.”  
  
She spies a bottle of lavender oil nearby. “Should I undress…?”  
  
“If you want,” he shrugs mildly. “I’m gonna heat up some of the oil. And undress, don’t undress…whatever you want to do or not do is fine. The goal is to just _relax_. I’ll be right back, okay?”  
  
Addison thinks about it for a moment once Mark has left the room, and decides to slip out of her top. She opts to leave her jeans and maternity bra on. She then climbs onto the bed, getting situated on her stomach and tipping a cheek to the side to rest on a pillow.  
  
“Try to stay out of your head,” Mark says when he comes back into the room. He gets settled next to her, rubs some oil between his hands, and starts with her neck and shoulders, attempting to soothe out the tension knots roped in her muscles.   
  
“By the way, that better not be Astroglide,” Addison jokes a few minutes later when his fingers run along her spine.   
  
“It’s not,” he laughs, pressing the heels of his hands into her back and pushing up to the base of her neck, doing his best not to smear oil over the back of her bra. Mark repeats this motion several times. “But, Addison, you’re not going to _believe_ this. I know I said there was no way you were right about that arbitrary amount of fluid ounces you threw out there, so I looked into it a little more -”  
  
“Of course you did…” she mumbles, sighing contently when his hands move up and down her sides in slow, gliding strokes.   
  
“And it turns out there _are_ ones out there that big. I saw a sixty-four ounce bottle of lubricant on Amazon. Crazy, right?”  
  
“Mm,” Addison manages in response. She closes her eyes for a while, focusing on how comforting this feels, how warm it feels, how _good_ it is making her feel as Mark alternates between heavy and light pressure. She starts to breathe a little quicker, and then releases a soft moan when his thumb slides over the nape of her neck.   
  
“Feel okay?”  
  
“Feels incredible,” she answers. “You didn’t have to do all this, you know.”  
  
“I know, but I wanted to.” He bends down to place a kiss on her upper back, but has to lean away when she unexpectedly rolls beneath him, turning over.   
  
“Hi,” Addison stares up at him. She forces herself not to cross her arms over her body.   
  
“Hi there. You’re beautiful,” he lightly sets his hand on her stomach. It takes a moment, but Addison releases the breath she could feel herself holding in. “And you’re a lot of other looks-related adjectives that I would be happy to list out for you, but…mostly you’re just beautiful.”  
  
“Thank you.” She blinks up at him, slowly tearing up. He said she would know. And now she does. “For…for making me _feel_ beautiful. And for loving me. Mark, I’m ready now.”  
  
“You are?”   
  
Mark honestly hadn’t expected this to happen (hoped, sure, but expected, no). He was one-hundred percent fine with just giving her a massage and taking a quick nap before going to get Kate. But then, he thinks, he hadn’t really expected _Addison_ to happen, either. Or their daughter. Or this life. A life where he craves intimacy with her as much as he craves sex, where her happiness matters so much more than his own, where everything just matters more, where living without her just isn’t an option.  
  
He decides he will pull Savvy aside some point soon and ask if she will go engagement ring shopping with him.   
  
“This honestly _was_ just for you, Addie,” he continues, tone gentle and reassuring. “I wasn’t, like, expecting anything from you. We don’t have –”  
  
“I know,” she reaches a hand up to cup his cheek. “But I want to.”   
  
Addison is certain that the first time having sex in a long time and after having a baby will feel different.   
  
She is right. It is different.   
  
But it is also better.   
  
\------


	28. Weighted Mind

**Chapter 28. Weighted Mind**  
  
“Shh…” Addison whispers, pushing the sound close to her daughter’s ear.  
  
This midday meltdown and outright defiance of naps two and three feels a bit unprecedented. Addison was worried that Mark going back to work would be difficult, that the apprehension and isolation associated with being Kate’s only caregiver during the day would reach a crescendo, but they really have hit something of a sweet spot. It was an adjustment, certainly, but they have a routine, and fun little things have been sprinkled throughout early June. They celebrated Addison’s birthday, went to a Yankees game while Kate stayed with her godparents, have witnessed a few new baby milestones, and have welcomed a number of guests into their home, including all four grandparents. Kate has also met Carolyn Shepherd via FaceTime.   
  
_This feels too early for sleep regression to be setting in, no matter_ how _advanced your dad and I think you might be_ , Addison thinks. She bites down on her lower lip as she watches her daughter squirm in her arms, face pinched and red. Addison is _trying_ , but she knows Kate has reached the point of tiredness where she isn’t entirely responsive to her mother’s attempts to soothe her. Instead, her eyes are screwed tightly shut and her arms and legs are thrashing. Kate arches her back again and tongues her pacifier out of her mouth; it bounces off her tiny shoulder and falls to the floor. Addison almost makes a five-second rule comment, but it feels a little sad to make a joke when no one else is around.  
  
 _You are doing everything you can. And you are not the reason Kate is upset_ , she reminds herself fiercely. But she stares down at her screeching daughter and considers the fact that her baby not being able to stop crying is ultimately what is going to make Addison _start_ crying.  
  
\------  
  
 _Just checked. He’s in surgery with Dr. Patel. Just started. Board says 2.5 hours. Endoscopic Strip Craniectomy. Want me to get someone to tell him to get in touch with you when he’s done?_  
  
Addison’s stomach churns at this response, and she texts Nurse Charlene back to let her know that _no, it’s okay_ , she will try to contact Mark later. She doesn’t ask for more information because she doesn’t need to know anything more specific to understand the parents of this tiny patient would probably _love_ if their biggest complaint at the moment was that their baby won’t stop crying.  
  
Addison thinks of the women she has met in her twice-a-week Mommy and Me Yoga classes. She has exchanged phone numbers with a few of them. She feels most connected to Samira (with baby Ivy) and Natalie (with baby Wyatt), but doesn’t feel comfortable, well, _bitching_ to them since she really doesn’t know them particularly well yet. And inviting them over doesn’t feel like an option – the living room and kitchen are disasters a mere forty-eight hours after the housekeeper has come (another thing she feels guilty about, even though she is not the only person to utilize a cleaning lady, and also, she signed up to be a stay-at-home- _mother_ through the end of the month, not a stay-at-home-housekeeper).  
  
She hates to bother her best friend, but it’s really the only option. Guilt hits again, because she just _knows_ Savvy will be supportive and kind and will be locking up her office door by the time they end the call.  
  
“Hey,” Addison says when her friend picks up. “Um…are you busy?”  
  
“During a workday?” Savvy laughs, taking a moment to scan the pile of invoices, cash flow templates, and sticky notes littered over her desk, not to mention an inbox she is largely ignoring due to an alarming number of flagged messages. “Always, unfortunately. But not too busy for you and the world’s cutest baby though. What’s up?”   
  
“I…” Addison starts, feeling her throat contract. She ruefully lowers the volume on the baby monitor she is clutching. “I just…”  
  
“Are you okay, Addie?”  
  
“No, not really. I’m just…I’m just kind of having a tough day with Kate. And Mark is in surgery…” she hiccups. “I’m so _tired_ , Sav. And I…I can’t get her to stop crying. I’m in the living room. And she’s in her crib. We’re, um. We’re on a break?”  
  
“It’s a good sign you’re still able to make a TV-related joke. But more importantly, you’re doing _exactly_ what you should do, so great job, mom. Just let her cry for a few minutes. I’m going to come over, okay? I can leave here in ten. It’s gonna be okay. Should I stay on the phone with you, babe?”  
  
“No, just come when you can. I’m okay, but I just…I just need another adult here.”  
  
“I get that. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”  
  
\------  
  
Mark heads into his office following a successful surgery. He reaches for his phone and smiles in anticipation, knowing Addison will have provided him with a number of Kate-related updates. He is rewarded when he sees a picture of Kate clothed in a terrycloth bathrobe with a mouse hood that has comically large ears. Kate is smiling in the photo, a huge, gummy smile ( _his smile_ , Addison feels), which has become her trademark of late. Addison also attached a picture of Kate and another baby from the yoga class they attend (he’s been told this baby’s name before, but can’t remember it at the moment).   
  
He then goes back to his other text messages. He saw a message from Savvy, but when faced with the choice of reading words versus looking at a picture of his daughter in a robe with a _mouse hood_ , Savvy didn’t stand a chance. Mark frowns though when he sees his friend’s words: _Hey. Everything is okay but give me a call as soon as you can. IMPORTANT._  
  
“Hi, Mark,” Savvy answers on the first ring, speaking quickly before he can cut in to ask what is going on. “So again, everything is _fine_ , but I’m at your place. Addie and Kate are sleeping. She tried to call you because she was having a rough afternoon, but you were in surgery, so she called me and I came over.”   
  
“What happened?”   
  
“A crying baby happened. By the time I got here though, Kate had fallen asleep. So I sat with Addie while she cried – I think she just needed to get it out of her system. She was tired and felt bad she couldn’t get her kid to stop howling. And then I gave her half a Xanax and sent her to bed. I’ll stay until you’re able to come home, and it’s not a rush, so don’t worry. Everything is okay now.”  
  
“Thank you for being there. Was she…” Mark starts to pace in a small circle. “Was she hyperventilating?”  
  
“No, just crying. Hard crying, but she wasn’t short of breath. Mark, I _promise_ you – I know what to look for. I work in finance. I see tears and stress and anxiety from clients and coworkers on the daily. This wasn’t a panic attack. It was more like a meltdown.”   
  
Mark inhales tensely and presses his thumb between his eyebrows. “I just…I thought maybe you were calling to be like, ‘oh, Addison made a comment about how three-stone rings and filigree bands are tacky’ and that we were going to need to start from scratch. Not…not this.”  
  
“Okay, first of all, how dare you, because I have _exquisite_ taste in jewelry. That ring looks like it came straight off the set of _Downton Abbey_ ,” Savvy jokes, keeping her voice low. “But it’s gonna be okay. Come home, but don’t rush. I’m here and I’ve got her and Kate. Just give me your WiFi password. I can’t wait to hear what it is, because I’m sure it’s really stupid.”  
  
“Not so much stupid as it is, well, _mean_. It’s ‘you can’t stay here.’ All one word, lowercase, no apostrophe in ‘can’t.’ It’s a pre-Addison password. She hates it.”  
  
“I wonder why.”  
  
\------  
  
Addison fell asleep on top of the comforter, a clear enough sign to Mark about her level of exhaustion. She’s wearing a Yankees shirt of his (spit-up stain near the shoulder) and a pair of sweatpants. Her hair is still a little damp, and snarled in a way that indicates she probably didn’t have the opportunity to brush it. His hypothesis is that she showered after yoga, but that Kate – who timing-wise is usually awake during post-yoga showers – started to get upset during the shower. He can picture the scene because he has seen it before. Kate hangs out on her play mat in the bathroom while Addison showers. It sounds silly, but it never would have occurred to Mark before that that was an _option_ and that showering while your baby is awake is a possibility. There are a lot of things about parenthood that have surprised him, things he never would have considered if it weren’t for Addison. She knew from the beginning exactly how to do tummy time with a newborn and when the best time to trim Kate’s nails is (when she’s asleep) and to put a clean diaper down before removing the dirty one (this did not come up during CPR-doll-changing lessons, and Mark learned the hard way). It all seems to come so naturally to her; there’s just an _effortlessness_ to the way she moves and interacts with Kate. He sees that constantly. It didn’t occur to him until now that she might not always see herself that way. He wonders if he missed something this morning on his way out the door, or if there have been other things in the past few weeks he has missed.   
  
Mark climbs into bed with her, and gently rubs her shoulder. He feels bad for waking her, but reasons it would be worse if she woke up on her own and tried to piece together the details of a lost afternoon.  
  
“Hey…” he says softly when her eyes blink open.  
  
She swallows, throat feeling dry. “Kate…?”  
  
“Still sleeping. We gave her a Xanax too…” Mark says, then winces. “Sorry. That probably wasn’t funny.”  
  
“It was a little funny, actually.”  
  
“Savvy went home a few minutes ago. She wants you to text her later when you're feeling a bit better. Can…can I give you a hug, Red?”  
  
“I would really like that,” Addison says, eyes filling with tears.   
  
“So…tell me about your day,” he says once she’s cuddled in his arms, which makes her choke out a tight laugh. “Savvy said you tried to call me? I saw the photos of Kate, but -”  
  
“I didn’t call. I texted Charlene and asked if she could see if you were available when she had a minute. She said you were in surgery. I didn’t want you to look at your phone and see a bunch of missed calls and texts from me and worry, so I called Sav instead. And I left Kate in her crib for a bit. Which is what you’re _supposed_ to do if you need a breather, and she ended up falling asleep on her own like five minutes later – well, four minutes and twenty-seven seconds later, actually, because I was timing it and wasn’t going to let it go past five minutes. And then Mom Guilt set in and I started feeling horrible that I wasn’t there for her…and I _know_ she’s fine and it’s not like she’s in dreamland thinking that her horrible mother abandoned her in her time of need. It just…affected me. And then Savvy got here and I started crying and couldn’t really stop, so she gave me a Xanax and told me to go to bed.”  
  
Mark sighs. “I’m so sorry I wasn’t available, Ad.”  
  
“It’s okay. That’s not exactly something you can help. And I…I knew you’d be here when you could.”  
  
“Was this a bad day because it was a bad day, or is this something where you’ve been holding it in for weeks now and it finally hit you?”  
  
She thinks for a moment, considering this. “A bad day. A _tiring_ day. I swear not every day has been a struggle. I love being with her. We have a good routine going. We have tummy time and yoga and walks in Central Park and weekly FaceTime calls with grandmas who refuse to go by grandma and we read books and listen to music and sometimes I’ll just hold her in front of the mirror if I’m running low on ideas – and she’s such a _Sloan_ about that, she can’t get enough of her reflection. And I love our quiet afternoon time when we’re just hanging out on her activity gym. You would think it would be mind-numbingly boring, but it’s not. I _love_ this time with her. There’s just feelings of inadequacy sprinkled in here and there, because sometimes I thought I would be _better_ at this. At…at being a mom. And sometimes when I can’t get her to stop crying…”  
  
“Addie…”  
  
“I know. I know I’m a good mom. The rational part of my brain knows that. Kate was overtired today. I tried everything I could to help her settle down, but it felt like I was doing everything wrong and at the same time not doing enough.”  
  
“But you were doing your best?”  
  
She gives Mark a grudging look, knowing where he is going. “Yeah.”  
  
“Then you know that’s all you can do. Sometimes despite your best efforts, babies are gonna do baby things and just cry.”  
  
“I know. I’m sorry about today.”  
  
He shakes his head. “There’s nothing to be sorry for.”  
  
“Well, if nothing else, you should just be coming home to _one_ baby, not two.”  
  
“You’re not a baby,” he tucks a tangled strand of hair back behind her ear and resumes running a hand up and down her back. “You’re an adult who is pretty damn hard on yourself, and you’re an adult with feelings. You had a baby two months ago. And you spend all day with that baby, who, while basically being the most awesome baby in the world, isn’t always a walk in the park. Just because you _can_ do it all doesn’t mean you should. Everyone has limits.”  
  
“Yeah. Maybe…maybe we should have Lauren start coming a few hours a week if she’s able to start sooner. Just to give me a break?”   
  
“I think that’s a good idea,” Mark says in agreement. Addison smiles, appreciating that he acts like this is completely _her_ idea, as though he hadn’t tried to make a similar suggestion a few weeks ago. They recently hired a nanny, and their plan has always been for Lauren to start to come for a few hours towards the end of the month, but more in a get-to-spend-time-with-Kate way, not a give-Addison-a-break way. “It doesn’t make you any less of a competent mom because you need a break from time to time, Addie. We all need breaks.”  
  
She nods. “Kate too. She really needed that nap.”  
  
“Well, she’s asleep now. Tell me what else is going on in your head. Even if it’s not about today. I know Kate takes up, like, every minute of our existence and she’s pretty much all we talk about because she’s the coolest kid ever, but…”   
  
“We probably should be trying to check in with each other more often. And stay in Vermont,” she finishes. “Well, I guess as far as other things, in a few days it’ll be the first time we…” she shakes her head, blushing. “I don’t know the exact date, but in doing the math, in a few days it’ll be our Affair-iversary. Or Adultr-iversary?”  
  
Mark studies her closely, hand pausing on the ridges of her spine. “Are you okay?”  
  
“I think so. I expected to feel more guilt, and maybe more anxiety before going to sleep, but I don’t. I’m sure it’ll be on my mind when it gets closer to what I think the actual date is, but for now I’m okay.”  
  
“Well, we’re definitely going to keep checking in about that. Anything else?”  
  
She swallows heavily. “One other thing. I – I want to go back to work, and I want to be a surgeon. I love being a surgeon and can’t imagine not being one, but I…I don’t feel ready to leave her yet. I don’t think I can do it.”  
  
“Addison…”  
  
“I want to be Kate’s mom,” her bottom lip trembles as she starts to cry. “And I want to be a surgeon, but really all I want is to be Kate’s mom…I don’t know how to do _both_.”  
  
“You can do both,” Mark hugs her closer, hearing and feeling her hiccup into his chest. “And you’ll always be her mom, whether you’re with her or whether you’re elbow deep in someone’s uterus. You can do both. You’re just maybe not ready to yet, and that’s okay. If the first week of July doesn’t feel right, we can push it out. Or maybe you can start with half-days? We’re kind of big deals in our respective fields…we can find ways to make this work for us. And you know my hours are generally pretty flexible. We’ll figure out a way to do this so that it’s not Lauren putting her to bed at night.”  
  
She nods weakly. “I need more time. I just…I _know_ I’m not ready yet. And I get that that’s shitty because so many mothers would kill to be able to take this kind of time off, but…” Addison circles a hand around his wrist. “You’re handling it okay though? Being back at work?”  
  
“Well, getting updates from you throughout the day helps. I loved the picture of her in that ridiculous mouse robe, by the way. But…Addison?”  
  
She leans back to look at him. “Hmm?”  
  
Mark’s cheeks flood with color. “Um. I cried a little bit. The first day I went back to work. Just, like, two graceful tears when I left the apartment, but still. And you _know_ I had a weird, chaotic and missing-affection thing for a lot of my childhood so crying isn’t really something I do…but the idea of not being with Kate…anyway. It won’t be easy at first, but I promise it does get easier.”  
  
“You didn’t tell me that,” she says, mouth rounding in concern.   
  
“The not checking-in enough thing,” Mark replies. “And, let’s be real: my pride. I also almost cried when we were at the Yankees game too. We left after the bottom of the fifth because _I_ ended up being the one who couldn’t handle being apart from Kate that long, remember?”  
  
“We’re definitely gonna check in with each other more often from now on.”  
  
“Probably a good idea. Hey, is there milk in the fridge for Kate still?”  
  
“Yeah,” she confirms. “There’s a couple storage bags filled. Why?”  
  
“Because you’re going to keep sleeping. I’ll get her the next time she wakes up, and any additional times after that until morning.”  
  
She shakes her head in protest. “You have work tomorrow, Mark.”  
  
“I can go in late. You’re an incredible mom, but right now you’re also an exhausted mom. So I’m going to rub your back and you’re going to close your eyes and sleep some more. Just let Xanax and my right hand take the wheel, okay?”  
  
“Okay. Make sure you use the Dr. Brown’s bottles. She doesn’t really like the other brand we got. And the bottle warmer is -”  
  
“I know,” he cuts in, rubbing her back more insistently. “I’ve got her. Go back to sleep now. Everything’s okay.”  
  
\------  
  
Addison comes into the living room around eleven that night, having finally woken up. She is still a bit tired, but much more refreshed. She finds Mark and Kate on the couch. Mark is holding Kate under her armpits, keeping her in a standing position as she happily bounces her legs up and down against his thighs, a new interest of hers. It surprises them both how long Kate is able to do this for.  
  
“Hey, look who’s here, Katiebee,” Mark adjusts Kate in his arms so she can see Addison. Kate’s entire face lights up when she spots her mother, bow-shaped lips streaming into a wide smile. She then looks back to her father, continuing the very important task of bouncing.   
  
“Someone thinks it’s time to party,” he adds when Addison joins them on the couch. “Or she’s just been watching you at yoga and is trying to step up her game and master the Tree Pose.”  
  
Addison reaches out to stroke her knuckles over her daughter’s peachy cheek. “It’s always a party with Kate Sloan.”  
  
“Do you want to hold her, Ad?”   
  
She nods and collects Kate into her arms. She holds her daughter close, tucking Kate’s legs beneath her chest. She waits for some fidgeting or a squawk of protest to indicate that party time is _not_ over, thank you very much, but instead her daughter releases a small, sleepy noise.   
  
“You can go to bed if you want,” Addison offers, turning to Mark.  
  
He shakes his head. “It’s okay. I’ll stay up with you guys. I’m going to go in late tomorrow, remember?”  
  
“Mark…”  
  
“It’s fine, Addie. You take care of her all day. Let someone take care of you now.” He lifts an arm over her shoulders, pulling her and Kate a bit closer. “She does that sometimes when you hold her, you know,” he adds, and she blinks at him, justifiably confused by this non-sequitur.   
  
“Does what?”  
  
“When you guide her to your shoulder,” Mark clarifies. “Sometimes she’ll let out this drowsy little sigh, and it’s like she just melts into you. And then one of her hands will wrap around your shirt sleeve and her pinky kind of sticks out, like she’s having tea or something. She’s a very classy baby that way. But mostly, just…I can see how much she loves and trusts you when she’s like this. Even when you don’t necessarily love and trust yourself.”   
  
Addison touches her lips to Kate’s silky hair. “I wasn’t my best self today. I’ll be better tomorrow, my little love.”  
  
“You’re a _really_ great mom, Addison. I couldn’t do this without you. I mean, I think I’ve mostly gotten the hang of it, but still. If it was just me from the beginning, I’d be in the corner of the room holding the CPR doll. I know today was hard, but I’m glad you felt okay with asking for extra support. Kate and I were playing five questions earlier, and she said that’s one of the reasons why you’re the best mom ever,” Mark gives her a slow smile, and she knows that he has prepared this for her and she is meant to ask.   
  
She takes the bait. “What else did Kate say?”  
  
“She loves your voice - whether you’re cooing at her while she’s eating, narrating parts of your day, or doing funny character voices while you read her books, she loves listening to you. And she likes how safe she feels when you cuddle her, that you don’t mind when she stares at you obsessively, and that you’re way faster at getting her in and out of the car seat than her daddy is.”  
  
“Thank you. You both make me so happy, even when one of you refuses to nap,” Addison replies, drawing in a heavy breath. “So…mid-July for going back to work. That’s okay, right?”  
  
“More than okay. You’ll know when the time is right. And Addison, I was thinking maybe I would take a little more time off too and -”  
  
“Mark, you really don’t have to…”  
  
“No, just listen. I was thinking maybe we should go up to the Cape for a few days. You know, take a family vacation.”  
  
She offers a weak smile. “Because of the Adultr-iversary thing?”  
  
“I actually think _Affair_ -iversary has a better ring to it,” he smirks. “But no, not that. I know it’s different because of the baby, but usually when you’re this upset – like you were today – usually it’s a sign we need to get out of here for a bit and hit the reset button. It might be nice to have a change of scenery, and you know Kate would love it. I was also thinking, and just hear me out – what if Weiss and Savvy came? We could do a mini-vacation with them. And if you’re up for it, maybe one night we get a hotel room for them, and maybe…maybe Kate stays with them for the night? We don’t have to though. It’s just a thought.”  
  
Addison nods. “A vacation sounds great. It might be nice to do something for Weiss and Sav, too. We didn’t really get much of a chance to celebrate them completing their adoption stuff since Kate was born so soon after that. Plus it’s not like they would turn down a free vacation. And…and, yeah. It might be a good idea to have a night with just the two of us. I think I could be ready for that.”  
  
“Only if you want though. You don’t have to decide right now, or even if it’s a ‘yes’ you can change your mind, or I swear if it’s two in the morning and it’s too hard to be away from her, we’ll just go get her.”  
  
“Okay. Thank you, Mark,” she replies gratefully.  
  
“Addie?” He asks quietly a few minutes later. Kate has fallen asleep on Addison’s shoulder. Peaceful silence has been engulfing them. “Do you think we’d still be together if it wasn’t for Kate? The fact that it’s almost been a year…I know it ultimately doesn’t matter, but it just kinda made me wonder…do you think we would have made it as a couple if you hadn’t gotten pregnant?”  
  
“I don’t know,” Addison meets his eyes and replies honestly. She imagines there would have been a lot of _running_ and _going_. Away, from, to. It’s hard to imagine what the end result would have been for them as an _us_. They would have either grown together or grown apart. “I wish I had a more certain, romantic answer, but…we do not get unlimited chances to have the things we want. And this I know. Nothing is worse than missing an opportunity that could have changed your life. I mostly just know that I’m glad I don’t _have_ to know the answer to your question. The idea of ‘ending up’ somewhere is something that used to scare me. Like, the finality of it. But this is where I ended up. And I _like_ that this is where I ended up. This is all I want. I’m glad I have you and her.”  
  
Mark’s inner optimist - something she brings out in him - wants to believe they would have found a way to make it work, but if he is honest with himself (another thing she brings out in him), he knows it would have been a long, hard road, with fair amounts of misery and self-loathing. He doesn’t have a conclusive answer, and like her, he is happy that he doesn’t have to have one.  
  
He liked the three-stone engagement rings for the look of them – the ones that had a larger center stone, but were otherwise subtler and unassuming with smaller accent gemstones. And then the jeweler, angling hard for a sale of course, had said the stones are meant to symbolize the past, present, and future. He thinks that fits them perfectly. It’s a lot of history they have.   
  
“Me too,” Mark murmurs in agreement, hugging her closer. “So. End of the month, or early July depending on what Weiss and Sav can potentially do…Cape Cod?”  
  
“Yeah. Cape Cod.”  
  
\------


	29. What the Water Gave Us

**Chapter 29. What the Water Gave Us**  
  
Mark sticks his tongue out at his daughter as calm waters from a low tide churn a few yards in front of them. Kate peeks back at him, watching his face closely from beneath the brim of her floppy bucket hat. She experimentally slides the tip of her tongue between her lips in mimicry, but when Mark thrusts his tongue out as far as he can and crosses his eyes, Kate responds with a smile and a delighted giggle instead. The two of them and Savvy – who has Kate propped between her legs to help her sit with support – are shaded beneath a cabana tent while Addison and Weiss are down in the water, calves-deep as they walk along the frothy shoreline.  
  
“Getting that sass started early,” Savvy acknowledges with a wide, happy grin when Kate looks up at her as though to confirm her godmother has seen this teasing exchange. Babbles of choppy vowels emerge from Kate’s mouth before she resumes shaking her hand that is holding on to a pair of baby sunglasses.   
  
“She gets it from her mom. It comes naturally, but Addison also likes to make faces at her, and now she’s got me hooked on doing it too.” Mark nods in his girlfriend’s direction. The adults have been rotating time spent in the ocean and “Kate Duty.” There is a bit more freedom in being able to lap through the pristine waters of this private stretch of Mayflower Beach, but “Kate Duty” is also nice because it involves snacks and beer, and of course a baby in an adorable blue and white seersucker swimsuit and matching hat. (There are sunglasses too, but Kate is far more interested in playing with them than wearing them – never mind the stuffed elephant, rattles, and musical toys surrounding her.)   
  
Savvy bends to place a kiss on top of the baby’s head. “Well, sassy though you may be, luckily you seem perfectly content with just sitting in the shade with your dad and Auntie Sav.”   
  
Mark smirks. “Yeah. Amazing how much fun having your fingers in your mouth apparently is at this age. Or sunglasses.”   
  
“Just as long as they’re _her_ sunglasses and no one else’s,” Savvy says, inclining her head towards the pair of white sunglasses Kate is now casually gnawing on. “I know her mother loves her, but Addison also really loves her Gucci frames. _And_ she loves jewelry, you know. Specifically _rings_.”  
  
“Aren’t you subtle,” he deadpans.  
  
“Says the man who has never been subtle a day in his life. This is killing me, Mark. It’s not like she’s going to say no. Is the plan that you propose on whatever night you and Addison ship us off to a hotel with your kid? I’m not buying that that alone time is just for sex.”  
  
“That would be the ideal time to propose – and obviously the ideal time for sex, that goes without saying – but I don’t really have the proposal set in stone. It’s more of a ‘right now plan.’ I’ll just…I’ll know when it’s the right moment.”  
  
“Weiss and I are heading back to the city on Sunday,” she reminds him. “You’re staying until Wednesday. And I get that this is a free vacation for us, but still. I’m going to be pissed if you don’t propose until _after_ we hit the road.”  
  
“I’ll keep that in mind.”  
  
“Daddy?” Savvy holds Kate up and shields her face behind the baby’s, throwing out an exaggerated fake voice. “Stop stalling. Please marry my mommy. You’re lucky to have landed her in the first place. You’ve out-kicked your coverage.”  
  
“Out-kicked _my_ coverage? What am I, a gargoyle?” He snorts.  
  
“I meant personality-wise.”  
  
Mark rolls his eyes. “Rude. Also, find a different voice for my kid. That was freaky. You sounded like the flying squirrel from _The Bullwinkle Show_.”  
  
“Wow, I completely forgot about that one. That actually makes sense though. From what I can remember, Bullwinkle the moose always had the worst puns. You _would_ have been a proud connoisseur of that cartoon. Oh, God…” Savvy braces herself when a grin flickers across Mark’s face. “What?”  
  
“Just that I watched a lot of TV when I was little kid and I loved _The Bullwinkle Show_. It was very…a-moose-ing.”  
  
Savvy sighs and looks down at her goddaughter. “I’m so sorry, Kate. This is going to be your life. Mark, has anyone ever punched you in the face before?”  
  
“No. Does that surprise you?”  
  
“Actually, yeah.”  
  
\------   
  
“You okay?” Mark glances over at Addison as they pull away from the hotel. Her eyes have already flickered to the backseat, where there is no longer an infant car seat. Or an infant. “Because if at any time –”  
  
“I’m okay,” she interrupts, breathing out gently. “And I know. It’s just a ten-minute drive if I change my mind. What about you though, Mark? We’re in Conversational Vermont. Are you okay without her for a night?”  
  
He nods. “Also okay. It kinda helps that she’s a happy baby. And that we left the room when she was distracted with tugging on Weiss’s hair.”  
  
“Yeah. Well, as much as I already miss her, it _will_ be nice to have a night potentially to ourselves. Do you think it’s weird that Sav and Weiss know we dropped them off at a hotel room with our kid so we could basically have sex?”  
  
“We had sex last night too, you know.”  
  
“Well, _they_ don’t know that.”  
  
“We have a kid together. I’m pretty sure they know we have sex, Addie.”  
  
\------  
  
“Oh, Mark. Look,” Addison waves her cell phone towards him while they are cleaning up after a nice dinner. “Sav just sent a video. Kate likes the rain!”  
  
Mark navigates the last dish into the dishwasher and walks over to Addison. The scene outside the window behind her features dark clouds shadowing above an equally dark ocean as droplets fall from the sky. _Unbelievable and yet predictable_ , he had said to her when a wall of low-hanging clouds started to draw across the sky in the late afternoon, in what has otherwise been a perfectly sunny, cloudless week. _There’s just something about us and rain._  
  
Addison presses play and hands Mark her phone. He laughs when he sees a short clip of Kate being held close to the window by Weiss. She is slapping her hands uncoordinatedly against the glass, the outside of which is smeary and fogged with thick droplets. She appears fascinated by the rain, emitting little ah-ah-ah sounds as water splashes against the ground.  
  
“That’s good. I mean, it’s not _entirely_ surprising. You don’t really hate the rain anymore,” he gives Addison’s shoulder a light squeeze as he sets her phone on the counter. “Not completely, anyway.”  
  
“No, I don’t hate it. Not when I’m with you and Kate. And speaking of rain…do you want to kiss me in the rain?” She raises an eyebrow.  
  
“Really?”  
  
“Mm-hmm,” she giggles, taking his hand. “We talked about it last time, but I was pregnant and lazy. Right now I’m neither. Come with me.”  
  
They quickly go outside, not bothering with shoes or additional articles of clothing to keep them warm. Mark follows her lead, assuming she won’t go _that_ far, but she surprises him and tugs him all the way down to the water. Sea foam hisses around them, white-whisked bubbles rushing past their ankles as they wrap their arms around each other.  
  
“Hey,” Mark laughs, making a vague gesture towards the sky. The rain is starting to land more heavily now, and he knows other storm companions will not be far behind. “What are we going to tell our kid if we get struck by lightning?”  
  
“I imagine we’ll be dead first, so.”  
  
“Fair point. Did you wear a light-colored shirt just for me?”  
  
“No,” Addison glances down at her pale pink button down, already soaked through. “It just worked out that way. Lucky you. And now as soon as you kiss me, literally _everything_ about this will be cliché,” she says, and Mark immediately tilts his face down to meet hers, embracing the cliché.   
  
It’s feather-light and exploratory at first, but then he teases her mouth open wider, sliding his tongue out to meet hers and eliciting a quiet gasp. Addison giggles against his mouth when a wave knocks both of them in the knees. It startles them, and they wisely move a bit closer to dry land (but they are not in fact wise enough to get out of the water _completely_ ).   
  
“We’re putting on quite a show for our neighbors,” she says in between resumed kisses, flicking her head to move a wet strand of hair off her cheek. She gives Mark an amused look as his hands slide against her bottom and the back of her thighs.   
  
“It’s dark,” he smirks, fingers curling against her through her jeans. “Even if a neighbor was close enough to see us from this angle – and none of them are – it’s way too dark for them to notice how much my hands are enjoying you. When in Vermont by way of Cape Cod, right?”  
  
“It’s not going to be _just_ your hands enjoying me soon, I bet,” Addison responds suggestively. She places her own hands on Mark’s chest. His shirt feels fused to his skin. “Oh, Vermont. That poor, innocent state that we’re slowly debasing with our explicit conversations and sexual encounters.”  
  
Mark smiles in agreement and holds her more firmly, pressing her wet body against his as they continue to kiss. He rakes his hands over her curves appreciatively, but stills them on her waist when he feels her tremble in his embrace.   
  
“Cold?”   
  
“Y-yeah,” she nods, grabbing his hands and holding them at her sides. “Just a few more minutes though,” she smiles and leans against him, words husky as they land on his neck. “I don’t want this to end yet.”  
  
“Me either,” Mark tells her. And then he knows. “Addison. Marry me.”  
  
“What?” She is almost certain she heard him wrong over the sound of the wind pushing wildly around them. Thunder growls somewhere across the ocean. She leans back, studying him closely.   
  
“I’m proposing. And we’re not in the car. This isn’t a car proposal.”  
  
A slow smile teases her lips up. “You’re proposing to me,” she whispers. It only takes a moment for overwhelming happiness to set in. She smiles and blinks back tears beginning to gather in her eyes as Mark tangles their fingers together and coaxes her closer. Addison suddenly thinks about how she felt the first time she held her daughter. She knew with absolute certainty in that moment that her life was _meant_ to include Kate, in the same way that slowly, over time, she realized her life was meant to include Mark. She blinks this sentiment away and refocuses herself, wanting to be _present_ for this moment, to _remember_ this moment. She has wasted far, far too much time worrying about what is happening in her life versus what is not, what could have happened versus what did not. And now she is here. And it really is the most remarkable thing, that Mark is here with her.  
  
“Yeah. I’m proposing,” Mark says, raising his voice to be heard over the storm battering around them. “I love you. You and Kate are my entire world. I know how this started – how we started – is crazy and one day we’re going to have to pull off some serious hook and ladders and end-arounds in order to explain our relationship to our kid, but I just know that it’s _you_. It’s supposed to be you. You’re it for me. The middle and the end, the present and future. You walked into my life with the most incredible heart and beautiful hair and more shoes than any one person needs to have. You walked into my life and my apartment and you stayed. And now you need to _keep_ staying, because I love you, and I swear I will love you forever.”   
  
“Mark,” she says softly. Because this is _Mark_ and Addison needs to say so just to ground herself more in what is happening. She believes in him and he believes in her and last summer they somehow managed to believe in each other enough to build something from the smoke and ashes of their previous lives, from all that history. Addison inhales shakily as the love of her life drops to a knee, calves and thighs instantly submerged in water. His hand claws around in his pocket, searching for what she knows will be a ring.   
  
“Addison Forbes Montgomery, will you marry me?” Mark snaps open the box, and places a diamond ring flush about the tip of her finger.   
  
“Yes!” Addison half-screams and half-laughs. She beams when he slides the ring onto her finger. “Yes, Mark. Of course I’ll marry you.”  
  
Mark grins, water sluicing down his legs as he stands back up. They grab onto each other and run back towards the house, steps sluggish in the wet sand and then clunky as they bound up the stairs dividing their property from the beach.   
  
“Holy shit it’s cold,” Mark says practically in one breath, words crushed together when they reach the front porch.   
  
“You…” she laughs, dropping her hands to her knees, slightly winded and incredibly giggly. “You were kneeling in the water.”   
  
“Yeah,” he grins. “Not my brightest idea. Let’s get dry.”  
  
Addison shakes her head. An idea comes to her. “Let’s get wet. _More_ wet. Warm wet,” she says, still full of happy and borderline-delirious laughter when Mark shoots her a justifiably confused look. “Shower with me?”  
  
He likes this idea.  
  
The water is far from warm by the time they’re done in the shower.   
  
\------  
  
“Trick plays,” Addison murmurs later that night, wrapped in his arms. Mark blinks at the sound of her voice cutting through the darkness. He was starting to drift off, warm and sleepy following a second round of lovemaking.  
  
“What?”   
  
“When you were proposing, at one point when you were talking about what it will be like when Kate is old enough to know how and when we started dating…I think you threw some football references in there.”  
  
Mark grins in confirmation. “I did. I was nervous. It didn’t matter how many times I practiced the speech in my head. I retained the basic _elements_ of what I wanted to say, sure, but the football part was unexpected – I blame Savvy for that because she had made a football reference earlier in the day. Don’t tell her though. I want her to think that I’m cool and that I was totally relaxed about the proposal and that I was able to wing it and it was perfect.”  
  
“It _was_ a perfect proposal, Mark. But Savvy definitely doesn’t think you’re cool. She knew this was coming though?”  
  
“She did. And she helped me pick the ring. I mean, that’s the one I wanted to get you, but it got the Savvy Stamp of Approval. Do you like it?”  
  
“I do,” Addison assures him. She had honestly barely _noticed_ the engagement ring when he originally placed it on her finger, but has since had the opportunity to marvel over it. Her eyes again sweep over the round center diamond flanked by two smaller pear-shaped Moissanite gemstones. Delicate, curled embellishments wrap along the top and sides of the white gold band. It is truly the most beautiful ring she has ever seen, modern and vintage and elegant all at once. “It’s stunning, Mark. I’m…I’m so happy right now. And I want it to just be _us_ tonight, but I also can’t wait to go get our kid tomorrow morning.”  
  
He smiles into the graceful curve of her neck. “Me too. Text Savvy at some point though before you fall asleep. I don’t think she can take waiting much longer. She’s getting close to cracking.”  
  
\------  
  
“You know, you completely caught me by surprise with the proposal, but I should have known something was up,” Addison says a few days later as they make their way back to Manhattan after a blissful week and-a-half in Cape Cod. “You didn’t make any car proposal jokes on the way to the beach house.”  
  
Mark chuckles. “I kept waiting for you to joke about it, too.”  
  
“I must have been distracted by the cutie in the back seat,” Addison glances in the rear view mirror, catching sight of Kate’s sleeping face in the mirror affixed to the headrest. “So. About the wedding…”  
  
“Oh, I see,” he says with a lazy grin. “I can’t _propose_ to you in the car, but we can talk about the wedding in the car. And actually, we’re about to cross into Connecticut. I’m surprised you haven’t clammed up yet.”  
  
“Ha,” she rolls her eyes. “I just have a few initial thoughts I want to share. I don’t intend to plan it all in the car. The wedding though…can it be small? I mean, realistically it’s not like we have _that_ many friends. Kind of an occupational hazard of working long hours. But I was thinking like, us and Kate, _obviously_ , and then our parents, Sav and Weiss, Maggie and her husband, Naomi and Sam if they’re able to come – I know it’s been a long time though – and maybe less than one hand’s worth of people from work who were closer to me than Derek and haven’t been weird particularly weird or uncomfortable around us since last fall. Josie and Charlene for sure. And, I mean, if there’s anyone _you_ want to invite – like maybe the Tennisses, for example – then of course they would be included too. It’s just that, well, I know Derek is your best friend –”  
  
“I know it would probably be too weird,” he finishes for her. “I get it. And small is fine.”  
  
“Are you sure though, about it being small? I mean, it’s your…first wedding.”  
  
Mark cannot resist a little ribbing at this observation, especially when the look on her face indicates that she finds it a bit funny too. “And _last_. Some of us get it right on the first shot, you know.”  
  
“Ass. Well, it’s my last too,” she laughs. “And it’s not like I heard you raise an objection during the first wedding.”  
  
“I wasn’t in love with you at the first wedding. I was just an idiot who knew you — and yeah, yeah. I know I’m still an idiot. But anyway, it really can be whatever you want it to be, Addison.”  
  
“Okay. And…can we get married in the winter, maybe?”  
  
He smiles. A request for a winter wedding does not surprise him. “Yeah. I’d marry you next to a _dumpster_ , Addison. I just want to marry you.”  
  
“That would be disgusting, but I appreciate the sentiment. Okay, well those are my initial thoughts. I’m done for now. And as much as I like keeping this news between us and Sav and Weiss, we should probably call our parents this weekend to let them know. It’s the adult, Vermont thing to do.”  
  
“Yeah, it is,” Mark agrees. “Your parents won’t be surprised though. I called them beforehand to let them know my, uh, _intentions_ …God, I hate that word. Anyway, I know you don’t really listen to anyone – least of all your mother – and it’s kind of antiquated, but Savvy said I probably let them know ahead of time that I was planning to propose.”  
  
“Savvy really is the ringmaster of this relationship.”  
  
“That she is. And your parents said they were happy for you and for us, by the way. They said this better be your last wedding though. They’re too tired to have to do this a third time.”  
  
“Damn, I’m really taking a lot of heat for having a second wedding.”   
  
“And, um…” Mark glances over at her, fingers curling tighter around the wheel. “I also called Derek. Not for _permission_ or to get his approval, obviously, but I just…I felt like he deserved to know I was going to propose to you.”  
  
She holds back a weak smile and tries to joke first to break the ice. “You notified a lot of people ahead of time. Good thing I didn’t say no. How embarrassing that would have been for you. What…” Addison feels herself tense a little. “What did Derek say though?”  
  
“The first thing he said was ‘wow.’ And then he said okay and that it’s kind of weird for him, but he’s supportive and he wants us to be happy. He said congrats. And I believe the words ‘good luck’ were also in there.”  
  
“Did he mean ‘good luck’ to the both of us for taking the plunge? Or ‘good luck’ to you because you’re marrying _me_?”  
  
“Not sure. I didn’t ask him to clarify.”  
  
Addison’s lips curl up in a smile. “Why do I have a feeling that it’s the latter?”  
  
\------


	30. Let's Take a Walk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I lifted a scene (and the song playing in the background for the title) directly from one of the best Mark/Addison scenes on Private Practice to ever grace our televisions. YOU KNOW THE ONE.

**Chapter 30. Let’s Take a Walk**  
  
The rocking chair sways gently as Addison rocks Kate to sleep. From the small opening in the doorway, Mark can see that their daughter has a tiny hand splayed on her mother’s chest, unknowingly positioned close to her heart. Addison’s mouth is forming the words of a lullaby, but he is too far away to discern what it is. Above them, an entire galaxy shimmers and dances. Addison recently purchased a projector night light for Kate’s room, which they have been turning on before bedtime and then turning off once their daughter is deep in a milk-induced slumber. Kate absolutely loves the ceiling display (admittedly, the science nerds in Mark and Addison do too), and it holds her attention, but Mark knows that her hazy blue eyes always drift back to her mother right before she falls asleep for the night.   
  
Normally bedtime is handled as a team, but it is Wednesday the fifteenth, and tomorrow will be Addison’s first day back at work. Mark briefly poked his head in to Kate’s room – both redheads were way too entranced in the stars shining down on them and whatever song Addison was softly singing to Kate to notice him – but he thought it best not to interrupt this moment. He knows Addison needs this alone time with Kate.   
  
“What were you singing to her?” He asks curiously about an hour later when Addison climbs into bed (he knows it probably only took their daughter about twenty minutes to hit a deep sleep), clothed in a pair of satin pajama shorts and a Yankees shirt of his. It’s the one she wore when she first spent the night with him a little more than a year ago, and it has remained a favorite of hers, especially because the unusually soft fabric (too many washes) always helps a bit on the nights she needs extra comfort.   
  
“It was a Beatles evening,” Addison informs him. “‘Here Comes the Sun’ and ‘Let It Be.’ I started out with ‘Here, There and Everywhere,’ but I couldn’t get past the halfway point because…” her lower lip quivers and she starts to cry, attempting to gasp out the line in the song that made her heart fill with dread and sadness. Mark hugs her, stroking her hair as she pushes through a drop tower succession of sobs in order to tell him. “Because…to love her is to need her.”   
  
He sighs in sympathy. “It’s gonna get easier, Addison. I know you’re probably really, really sick of hearing that from me and the words probably sound empty at this point, but -”  
  
“No, it’s okay,” she interrupts. Yes, Mark has said it a lot, and yes, the words feel devoid of actual meaning now, but it doesn’t change the fact that he has been trying so, so hard to be supportive; this means a lot to her. Addison’s fingers pleat gently against his chest in reassurance. “You’re just trying to help me. I’m sorry I’m not able to be stronger about this. I always knew that one day when I became a mom I would be sad to go back to work, but I honestly never thought it would _hurt_ this much.”  
  
He brushes his lips to her hairline, soothingly. “You are strong, honey. The Incredible Hulk-level strong. It’s not a sign of weakness that you’re going to miss the hell out of your kid.”  
  
Addison nods numbly, and snuggles as close to him as she physically can. “I’m glad I’m starting with a short week. And no matter how empty it sounds, you’re probably going to just have to keep telling me that it’s going to get easier and that everything will be okay. And that the sadness won’t last forever.”  
  
“I will,” he promises. “Now try to get some sleep.”  
  
\------  
  
She does not sleep particularly well that night, even though they have reached the point where, with occasional exceptions when sleep regression was rearing its ugly head at the beginning of the month, Kate can sleep for six to seven hour stretches when they put her down for the night. Addison wakes up before the sunrise is fully painted above the nearby buildings. She turns towards her alarm clock, making her time prediction in her head first, but how close or far she is from the correct time cannot really be determined because a yellow Post-it is stuck to the clock’s face and is obscuring the red numbers. She scoots to the edge of the bed, pulling Mark’s note off the clock. She realizes that even though she was restless throughout the night, he clearly managed to accomplish this task at some point while she was in between periods of awareness.   
  
_Question: Name five reasons why I know you are going to (eventually) be okay and that you won’t be sad forever._  
  
 _1\. Ass-kicking and name-taking are on your resume. If anyone can be a successful working mom, it’s you._  
  
 _2\. Kate loves you. This won’t change. There are a hundred shooting stars above her head when she’s falling asleep, but you’re all she really wants._  
  
 _3\. Your job is important. Maybe one of the babies you save will end up being a future friend of Kate’s? (I’m aware it’s a big city, but you never know, so just roll this with one)_  
  
 _4\. Lauren is great. Remember that she’s just one more person in Kate’s life who will care about her and keep her safe. That’s a good thing._  
  
 _5\. I love you and I’m here for anything you need._  
  
  
Addison smiles a teary smile and sets the note down for now. She thinks that it will fit perfectly in the pocket of her scrub top. She plans to string her engagement ring onto a necklace before she is scheduled to operate, so it only makes sense that she would also keep something like this close to her heart.   
  
\------  
  
“I’m probably going to cry, just so you know,” Addison says to Lauren, grinning a warning. She has Kate balanced on a hip, lightly swiveling as she gives the nanny some last minute instructions and shows her the weekly schedule again (she prides herself on it being organized and having _some_ structure, but it’s definitely flexible and doesn’t reek too strongly of Control Freak). Addison angles her head away when Kate reaches for one of her pearl drop earrings. Her hair is gathered in a sleek ponytail, which puts an end to Kate’s reaching for _that_ at the moment (a new habit that is kind of cute, but can also be painful at times), but her daughter tries again because Kate Sloan is no quitter. The earrings are the focus now.  
  
To her credit, Lauren nods and asks all the right questions, even though she has already watched Kate at various points in the past two weeks in order to help make the transition a bit easier (more for _mom_ in this case than baby, as Kate has seemed pretty at ease with her new companion so far). Also, nothing on the schedule is new information; Lauren knows when Baby Story Time is at the local library as easily as she knows how many diapers Kate typically goes through in a day, that Kate thinks it’s funny when people stick their tongues out at her, and that she releases a particularly high-pitched squeal when watching the ducks bob their heads and fluff their wings at The Pond in Central Park.   
  
“It’s okay,” Lauren assures her. “Just as long as you’re cool with the fact that I’m probably going to cry a little too then. I tend to tear up when I see other adults cry.”  
  
Mark offers a smile at this kind admission. “Well, you two are going to get along just fine.”  
  
Lauren ignores him to continue speaking with Addison, and if the couple didn’t _already_ think their nanny would fit right in with their little family, this just confirms it. “I’ll send tons of pictures and updates. And you’ll come home this afternoon and she’ll be so happy to see you. Both of you.”  
  
“And today is the library around lunchtime, but then tomorrow you’ll bring her by the cafeteria for lunch with us,” Addison says, though it sounds more like a question than a statement.   
  
“I will,” Lauren confirms. “And, Addison? My mom retired last year, but she was a teacher for years. And when I was little, I was always so _proud_ to tell people what her job was. It’s going to be the same with Kate one day. She’ll be able to tell people that her mom is a world-class surgeon. You’re going to work to make the world a better place for your kid and you’re teaching her that she can be anything she wants to be when she grows up. Try to remember that when it’s hard.”  
  
“Thank you, Lauren,” Addison smiles as her eyes fill with tears. She is able to blink them away though, at least for now. She forces herself to hold onto this reminder, as well as her Post-it note.   
  
\------  
  
“She’s a kick ass nanny,” Mark says when they step into the elevator to head down to the apartment lobby. He loops an arm protectively over her shoulders. “She’s like the Doctor Addison Montgomery of nannies.”   
  
“She’s a kick ass nanny,” Addison repeats. “So…you were in the elevator when you cried your two graceful tears about going back to work for the first time, right? Where were you standing?”  
  
He nudges her hip, getting her to move a little to the right. “Here, I think,” he determines, managing a weak grin.   
  
“Okay,” she whispers, closing her eyes. She tries to settle herself in this moment with a pep talk. “If you can do it, I can do it too. You’re okay now. And I’m going to be okay.”  
  
Mark nods, giving a light tug on her ponytail. “You’re going to be okay.”  
  
“And I’m strong and I’m magic.”  
  
“Yeah. You’re strong and you’re magic.”  
  
\------  
  
“Hey,” Mark pops his head into her office around noon. Her arms are loosely crossed and she’s leaning back against a dark beige couch cushion with a tired, forlorn look etched over her face. She looks wound up. “Did you have lunch yet?”  
  
She glances over at him. “I am in fact taking a long lunch with the chief’s blessing, but no, I haven’t yet. Just green juice. Oh, and pumping. But mostly green juice.”  
  
“I can’t believe you like that stuff,” Mark says as he shuts the door behind him. “Actually, I guess my main issue is that I can’t believe how _much_ you like it. Anyway. How are you holding up, Addie?”  
  
“Good,” she manages a feeble smile when he joins her on the loveseat. “You would have thought I was gone for a year or returning from a special ops mission with how excited the nurses and doctors were to see me. I’ve had consults all morning, so being busy has helped. Pictures and texts from Lauren have helped too. Kate’s getting pretty good at flipping from tummy to back. And then I’m scheduled to scrub in for a procedure at one-thirty. I’m really excited to finally get back in the OR. Like, my fingers are basically _itching_ to hold a scalpel instead of a rattle or a diaper cream brush. So I’m surviving. But right now it’s lunchtime and there’s nothing to distract me. It just sucks, being apart from Kate. And I know it will get easier, but right now it just…sucks. I’m sad. And all I have is stupid green juice.”  
  
“Which should probably be making you _sadder_.”  
  
She shrugs. “I called Naomi the other day to catch up. She had Maya during our Residency. It was tough going back to work, but she said – just like you and everyone else has said – that it gets better. And now Maya’s eleven. Naomi got through it. But, you know, Nai…she eats. She puts food on top of it, and that numbs the pain, the malaise, the…the…the sad. I mean, she puts food on top of it, and she feels good. But I…I don’t. I have green juice…”  
  
 _Please God stop with the fucking green juice_ , Mark thinks. Another thought occurs to him immediately after that though and his eyebrows prop up. He has a good idea. A really good idea. Addison is too stuck on her non-helpful juice thoughts to initially notice when he stands up and heads to the door.   
  
“I mean, that’s all I really like. And green juice, I can’t really put that on top of the sadness from missing my baby. I want to put something on top of it, but I don’t have anything…” her voice climbs up in frustration when she observes Mark experimentally playing with the lock on her office door. Her tendons pulse in her neck and she raises a hand and whacks it against the cushion, pouting childishly. “Mark, what are you doing? I’m telling you how I feel. I’m trying to do the grownup thing, the Vermont thing.”  
  
“And I _hear_ you,” Mark turns around to face her. He has a _look_ about him, a _plotting_ look, that Addison has only just noticed now. His fingers curl around the neckline of his shirt, tugging. “Numb the pain.”  
  
“What -?” she tries to state, mouth rounded in confusion when he takes his shirt off.  
  
“Numb the sad. Feel good. Put something on top of it,” he adds, tossing his shirt aside.   
  
“Mark, I said put _something_ on top of it, not put you on top of me.”  
  
“We’ve got a little over an hour to get something on top of you to try to make you feel less sad, Addison,” he says. The sounds feel amplified in her small, quiet office. The shoes hitting the floor, the clink of his belt buckle being undone and the strap yanking through the loops. The pants come next, leaving her fiancé standing in front of her in just a pair of black boxer briefs. “Me or green juice. And you already said green juice can’t go on top of the sadness. Now…do you want to feel better, or don’t you?”  
  
And then the boxer briefs are down. Now it’s a completely naked fiancé, who, from the looks of it – because Addison’s gaze started moving down as soon as the briefs started moving down – is somehow nearly ready to go. New York, Connecticut, Vermont, the moon, Winterfell, an Antarctica research station – wherever she is trying to be physically present or otherwise, she knows she should probably be _embarrassed_ for staring at Mark’s sexual anatomy with such hunger and lust. Except, she contemplates, it was a pretty ballsy move (an unintentional pun that she immediately hates, but knows he would love) on Mark’s part to get undressed in her office without warning and just _assume_ she would want to numb the sadness with sex.   
  
But he does know her well.  
  
Addison gets to her feet, desire flooding in her eyes as she presses her mouth to his, the kiss insistent and needy.   
  
Mark’s fingers make quick work of her dress, guiding the zipper on the back of the sheath silhouette down in one easy, purring stroke. He starts tugging the garment up over Addison’s hips at the same time she’s hooking a leg around his waist. They’re exceptionally good at this now, able to anticipate each other’s moves and desires, and Mark easily lifts her into his arms, encouraging her to lock both legs around him. This move feels a bit pointless because it just takes two steps for them to collapse onto the loveseat, but the result is a gasping Addison underneath him, one hand lazily knotted in his hair as they kiss, so there’s really nothing to complain about.   
  
“Oh…” she exhales when Mark abandons her lips to suck on her neck. She flexes underneath him, drawing her right leg in the air, acrobatically-high, and a pointed toe pump shades the dimmed light from a table lamp. “ _Yes_.”  
  
Mark makes a noise of agreement against the soft slope of her neck, tongue almost tickling her skin as he snakes a hand between her legs, moving the thin barrier of lace aside. He slips two fingers inside her, taking his time caressing her before his thumb moves exactly where she needs it, first light and teasing, then in more purposeful circles when her back starts to arch and her breathing quickens. It does not take long for her to tighten around him and cry out.   
  
“Floor,” Addison says when he brings his mouth back to capture hers, chest still heaving from the tension he has managed to ease. Her eyes are heavy-lidded and her skin is flushed. Mark can feel her heat sticky and slick between his fingers and she’s not really _helping_ his desire to relocate given how she is rolling her hips beneath him, but he concedes because it is a narrow loveseat, and they are long-legged, tall people, after all.  
  
The floor works out just great.   
  
\------  
  
They are a bit of a mess afterwards. A breathless, _happy_ mess though as they lie on the floor, sweaty and sated. Three long legs are stretched out to hang on the edge of the loveseat, and the straggler – one of Addison’s, the same one that was somehow nearly above his shoulder when he was guiding her towards her first (of several) climax – is bowed over Mark’s legs in such a way that he probably needs to tell her that whatever she is doing at Mommy and Me Yoga is doing wonders for her flexibility, and she wasn’t exactly a slouch in that category to begin with.  
  
Flexibility notwithstanding, what Mark is most pleased about at the moment is that he had the good sense to lock the door and to keep his fingers on the lock a little longer than necessary just to be extra sure that the door was extra locked, a necessary precaution given how they are both – her more than him though – basically _presenting_ non-professional parts of themselves towards the door. He slides his hand lazily up and down Addison’s left thigh, still twitching a bit. His fingers are soft and soothing over her damp skin as they breathe heavily.   
  
“Oh, my God. I…” she draws out a soft, wheeze-filled laugh. “I can’t catch my breath.”  
  
Mark is having a bit of a difficult time himself with oxygen and carbon dioxide, but nothing about her reaction is particularly surprising. When Addison thought they were done (surprise, they weren’t), and was thoroughly convinced she couldn’t possibly come again (at least not anytime soon), he kissed his way down her stomach and buried his face between her thighs – _again_. And she decided this is probably the best thing she’s ever been completely and utterly wrong about. She lost track of how many times and what this afternoon’s number is. (If the totals actually mattered to Addison, she could ask. Mark may love her in a very sweet, enduring way she could have never anticipated this time last year, _but_ he is also Mark through and through. He is typically pleased with himself and his abilities, and pretty much tracks sexual performance outcomes as closely as he tracks Yankees offensive stats.)  
  
“Are you feeling a little less sad?” Mark asks when the air is no longer swarming with their winded pants. He spies the second argyle throw pillow on the loveseat and feels vaguely disappointed that it’s not close enough for him to reach; the floor is not exactly comfortable. The pillow’s twin is currently cradled behind Addison’s head. It was luckily accessible to her earlier when Mark’s tongue was pressed flat against her nerve endings and two fingers were curling inside her, so she took the opportunity to clamp the pillow over her mouth to swallow her moans when she clenched around his fingers and spasms started to roll through her.   
  
“Yes, actually,” she nods, and then something else occurs to her and she starts to giggle. “Mark, how did you…? The zipper thing.”  
  
“The zipper thing?” He asks, unclear.   
  
“You’re like a sex _ninja_. How does a person manage to get a zipper down so smoothly and quickly with one hand? It’s unreal.”  
  
Mark chuckles and leans over to kiss her on the temple. “Skill, I guess. Kind of like you with your flexibility. Not complaining, but I don’t think legs are meant to bend in the way you manage to make yours bend. But hey, anytime you need to feel a little less sad when you’re away from your kid and a hug or a Post-it won’t cut it, just let me know and I’ll be sure to lock the door behind us. And put my sex ninja zipper skills to the test.”  
  
“I almost passed out at one point,” she smiles blushingly. “I…I don’t even think I remember my kid’s name right now. And when we were at the end, I’m pretty sure I forgot we even _have_ a kid.”  
  
“You and me both, Red.”  
  
\------


	31. It's Nice to Have a Friend

**Chapter 31. It’s Nice to Have a Friend**  
  
It has gotten easier to be back at work. It takes time, and there are still lingering feelings of guilt and sometimes the days are longer than she intends for them to be when emergencies and on-call situations arise, but it _does_ get easier, more manageable.   
  
And by the end of August, she is actually _enjoying_ work. Nowhere near as much as she enjoys being with Kate, but there is something to be said for having a thing that just belongs to her. And Addison no longer wakes up with a feeling of dread lodged in her stomach when the alarm clock goes off on a weekday. Lauren also brings Kate by the hospital for lunch usually twice a week, barring any surgical conflicts (the little redhead has quickly become adored by hospital staff), which helps a lot. Sex in her office helps. Finding an early evening Mommy and Me yoga class, comprised pretty much entirely of working mothers, helps too. Mostly though, there is nothing that helps quite as much or compares to getting to see your child smile when you walk through the door at the end of a long day.   
  
And then, just as August gives way to September, Addison receives a text message from Savvy on a Thursday evening: _Can you call me when you get a minute? I have something exciting to tell you._  
  
It’s good enough timing. It’s almost bedtime for Kate, and Mark can handle that. The three of them are on the couch at the moment. Kate is situated in Mark’s lap, perfectly content with a set of gel teething keys (no teeth yet, and not teething, but she loves this toy). She continues to unfurl her chubby fist to let go of the toy. Cause and effect is starting to kick in; she knows if she drops her toy, her daddy will pick it up and give it back to her. It is fun to do it over and over (and over) again. Mark, to his credit, is patient with this game.   
  
Addison holds the phone to her ear, wondering if this is about what she _thinks_ it’s about (it’s not like adults usually have many “exciting” things to share with friends, after all).   
  
“Hey,” Addison says when Savvy answers. “You have something exciting to tell me…?”  
  
“I do. And if I don’t _sound_ excited, it’s just because I’m talking quietly. I’m at home right now, and I’m holding my son. And -”  
  
“Oh my God, Savvy!” Addison lets out a yelp, which startles both Mark and Kate. “I – I am _so_ happy for you. And for Weiss. Just one sec…” she glances over at Mark, offering him the information quickly before tuning back in to her best friend. “Savvy and Weiss just got a baby. A little boy. Sorry, Sav, I’m listening. Tell me everything.”  
  
“Well, first you need to let me finish the news. There’s more.”  
  
“More…?”  
  
“Yes, more. I’m holding our son, and Weiss is sitting next to me…holding our daughter.”  
  
“It’s _twins_?” Addison gasps, turning back to Mark again with a disbelieving smile. “A boy and a girl.” Kate drops the keys, but the toy remains in the crevice between sofa cushions. She wriggles around and releases a whiny cry, which prompts Mark to give it back. Nice try. They are _not_ done playing yet.   
  
“Yeah,” Savvy continues. “It’s twins. Unbelievable, right? They’re beautiful. And perfect. It’s been…it’s been _insane_. But amazing. There’s so much to tell you. It all happened yesterday morning and it’s been a whirlwind ever since. I’ll send you pictures, but I wanted to tell you first. We’re still getting settled in and everything, but maybe on Saturday if you guys are around, you can come by to meet them?”  
  
“We would absolutely love to.”  
  
\------  
  
Addison’s phone vibrates during tummy time on Friday afternoon. She reaches into her pocket, suspecting it is either Mark or Savvy. She hopes for the latter, honestly; Savvy has been sending lots of pictures of the twins. It is crazy to look at photos of newborns because she can’t believe how big her own baby – who is more than double her birth weight and will be five months old next week – looks in comparison. It’s hard to believe Kate was ever once that small.   
  
Instead, Addison’s eyebrows lift in surprise when she sees an incoming call from her ex-husband.   
  
“It’s Derek. I wonder why he’s calling,” she tells her daughter, who is pushing at a few sensory toys on her play mat as Addison puts her phone on speaker and answers. “Hey, Derek. Derek?” She can hear him talking softly with someone in the background. She wonders if it was an accidental call. “Derek…?”  
  
“Hey, I’m here. Sorry, Addie. I got distracted and I figured I would just be leaving you a message. Do you have a minute?”  
  
“I do. It’s good timing because I just finished, well, cleaning up a blowout.”  
  
Derek chuckles. “Sure hope that’s with _your_ kid and not a patient, because otherwise they aren’t paying you enough.”  
  
“It’s with my kid,” she says. “I have the day off.” Every other week, she takes a day off, and Mark does the same on weeks alternating hers. It’s an ‘okay for now’ plan that she suspects will be addressed when contract negotiations come up (given that she and Mark are at the top of their respective fields, she imagines they have a decent leg to stand on, at least). Having the occasional four-day week to look forward to though really does help to ease her apprehension about being away from Kate.  
  
“Oh, nice. Wish I could say the same, minus the diaper part. So I’m calling for, well, two reasons, or – actually – three because I’m guessing you saw the photos of the twins by now?”  
  
“I did! They’re so cute. We’re going over to meet them tomorrow.”  
  
“Good. Say hi to Sav and Weiss for me. They kind of look like Weiss, actually, with the dark hair. Man – _twins_. Anyway, so the first thing, or second, now, is that I need you to tell Meredith something.”  
  
“Is she okay?”  
  
“I’m fine,” Addison hears a voice call out in the background. A little shuffling ensues, and then Meredith’s voice comes through louder, now on speaker phone. “Just licking my wounds, Dr. Montgomery.”  
  
“Addison is fine.”  
  
“There, uh, was an incident with the paddles today while Meredith was trying to intubate,” Derek explains while Addison hears Meredith mumble a sheepish _okay_ to calling her by her first name. “She wasn’t quite finished when…well. And I told her that it’s _not_ just her. Can you tell her about the time you got shocked? She thinks I’m lying just to make her feel better.”  
  
“Oh,” Addison sighs. “Yeah, he’s telling the truth, Meredith. First year of residency, I scrubbed in on an abdominal hysterectomy, and I was standing down by the patient’s knee, so I had to lean in to get a better look. Midway through, her heart stopped. I remember the attending grabbing the paddles, calling ‘clear.’ I lifted my hands up, but my entire stomach was still touching her legs. It did not…feel great. Derek, you remembered that? That feels like centuries ago. We were babies, practically.”  
  
“Yeah, of course I remember. All the interns were freaked out when word got around because we _all_ had instances where we were leaning too close or didn’t do something fast enough. And then Richard and Vivian Carlsmith and all the higher-ups at New York Hospital were acting weird because this happened to ‘the one to be’ rather than a universally less- _liked_ intern, such as, well…” he trails off, waiting to see if Addison will finish the thought.   
  
“Ha. It’s interesting that you’re bringing up Mark, given that I distinctly remember you both _laughing_ at me after Shock Gate.”   
  
“Laughing _after_ you assured us you were okay,” Derek counters. “Come on, you were laughing too once your pride – and stomach – hurt less.”  
  
“True,” she replies, reaching out to tickle Kate’s cheek. “Well, chin up, Grey. It happens to the _best_ of us. You’re in good company with me. Have you been checked out though? Feeling spacey? Tingly? Did you notice any –”  
  
“Yeah, I’ve been poked at and everything,” Meredith answers. “I’m good. It’s the pride thing. _And_ the fact that someone handed me the wrong sized tube, but I was surrounded by men so of course everyone just thinks I wasn’t moving fast enough. That’s what I’m pissed about.” There is a slight throat-clearing sound, and Meredith modifies her statement with a resigned sigh. “Fine. Other than _Derek_. He believes me, for whatever that’s worth.”   
  
“For whatever that’s worth,” Derek repeats wryly. “And of course she’s been checked out, Addie. She’s sitting next to a doctor. A really good one.”  
  
Addison smiles. “Oh, like brain surgery is so impressive.”  
  
“It is, actually.”   
  
“Well, I’m pretty used to my specialty being mocked – present male company _included_ on occasion, I’ll have you know – and everyone immediately assuming that Meredith was the complicating factor rather than the endotracheal tube is just _typical_ , so I have to get my jabs in where I can. Cold was the steel of my axe to grind for the boys who were condescending and sexist,” she says, and then breaks into a grin when Meredith catches the lyrical reference and laughs. Kate hears the laughter through the phone and joins in with a copying giggle of her own. Derek just groans.   
  
“Just so you know, I’m hanging up if this turns into a Taylor Swift conversation.”  
  
“Shake it off, Derek. Shake it off.”  
  
“Again. I will hang up this phone.”  
  
“Do what you want,” Addison replies. “You’re the one who called _me_.”  
  
“Yeah, true. And while I did call so that you could assure Meredith she isn’t the only person whose had this happen, I also have another agenda – or I do by way of Richard, at least. We were both hoping Mark might be willing to come out here for a few days. Our head Plastics guy is out at the moment. We have a six month old with coronal synostosis. I’d like to operate next week. It’s too severe to address it endoscopically, so we need to move forward with open cranial vault remodeling. Her forehead is going to need to be reshaped, and there are a few other complicating factors that she’s presenting with, so since this is an area Mark’s been published in before, I was hoping he might assist.”   
  
“Oh…” Addison says softly. She is grateful that her child – not much younger than this patient of Derek’s – is too focused on the toys in front of her to notice when her expression becomes forlorn. “Wow, poor baby.”   
  
“Yeah. It’s a really nice family. First kid.”  
  
“So…” she scrambles for a witty reply to keep her emotions at bay. “Are you going to tell Mark this, or am I his secretary now?”  
  
Derek laughs. “I sent him a text earlier and told him to give me a call when he’s available. I _had_ to call you anyway though because of Shock Gate, and I’m also just telling you about my request to borrow Mark because I assume that for whatever he does or doesn’t do, he needs your permission.”  
  
“You’ve got that right.”  
  
\------  
  
“So,” Mark calls out to Addison that evening, twirling spaghetti around his fork. Kate glances over at him from her high chair, temporarily distracted from a spinning, interactive musical toy that keeps her occupied during dinner (and the suction cup ensures the toy stays where it is). Or, Mark decides, she is just glancing at his _food_ with some relative interest, not him; they plan to start introducing solids soon. When Mark clears his throat, she tries to copy the noise, but has zero success.   
  
“So,” Addison copies when she returns to the table with a refilled glass of wine. She smiles at the “mmm” sound her daughter just made, and then focuses her attention on Mark.   
  
“I talked with Derek a little while ago. Sounds like you did as well. Shock Gate Round Two?”  
  
“Yeah, poor thing,” Addison sighs in sympathy. “She’s fine though. It’s the pride thing. And the ‘men are just the absolute worst thing.’ Anyway. He told you about his patient that he wants you to assist with?”  
  
“He did. He’s going to email me the scans tonight. Uh…what are you thinking about me potentially going there?”  
  
Addison presses her lips together and lowers her eyes. “I’m trying to do the Vermont thing. I…I don’t really want you to go. I know Kate isn’t a newborn and we’re not dealing with colic or up with her every two hours anymore, but I would be kind of nervous about being a solo parent for a couple days.”  
  
“Then I won’t go.”   
  
“I want you to go though.”   
  
He narrows his eyes. “Where exactly in Vermont are you right now, Addison? Because this feels like you’re en route back to Connecticut. You’re making this confusing.”  
  
“It’s a need and want thing,” she sighs. “I don’t want you to go for selfish reasons, but I want you to go because this little girl needs you. So while I might not _want_ you to go, I do _need_ you to go.”   
  
“Their main Plastics guy may be out, but they’ve got other ones in Seattle. I’m sure another surgeon could take this on,” Mark shrugs mildly. “From what Derek told me, I wouldn’t say it’s a run-of-the-mill vault remodeling, but it’s not something where it’s me or no one.”  
  
“But what if…what if it were Kate?”  
  
“Addison, it’s not.” Mark’s voice rises a little because even considering the idea of that is utterly terrifying. He looks over at Kate. “Five Little Ducks” is piping softly out of her toy, which does wonders to disrupt the seriousness of this moment. “Nothing’s wrong with -”  
  
“I know. I know. But what if something were?” She persists. “I know it’s a positively awful thing to contemplate, but if it was something neuro-related, wouldn’t you want Derek to be her doctor?”  
  
“Well, yeah,” he admits. “But that -”  
  
“Because he’s the best at what he does and you’re the best at what you do. This patient needs you.”  
  
“Okay. Well, what if you guys came with me? You could take time off.”  
  
“I thought about that, but it’s just…do you really want to fly across the country with an infant? That is going to be a very, very long six hours.”  
  
“No. But I also don’t want to be _apart_ from my infant. You, I could take it or leave it,” he smirks when Addison gives him a fake pout. “So the flight part will potentially…be a bummer. Do you have any other reservations about coming with me and bringing Kate?”  
  
“Not really. She’s pretty easygoing as far as babies go. Her sleep schedule might get a bit messed up with the time change, but only one of us will be working, so it’s not like I can’t just sleep with her during the day if she gets all out of whack. And it _is_ a nice city, chronic rain aside. It might be fun to take her to a few places, do some shopping, visit Adele – that’s Richard Webber’s wife. And we could always stop by the hospital to see you and Derek. Maybe Derek – and Meredith – would want to have dinner with us, even.”  
  
“Sounds like we’re all going to Seattle then. And you,” he taps Kate on the nose, and she giggles. “You be good on the flight to SeaTac or you’re getting left at baggage claim.”  
  
“ _Mark_.”  
  
“I’m kidding.”  
  
\------  
  
“So, what are the names of our godchildren?” Addison finally inquires. She and Mark were asked a few minutes ago to be the godparents of these adorable babies, which nearly made her cry, but now that her emotions are back in check and she’s sufficiently cooed enough at both dark-haired, dark-eyed little bundles of joy (now asleep in their matching bassinets), it occurs to her that she doesn’t know their names.   
  
“We’ve finally locked them down,” Savvy says, gently bouncing Kate on her knee. She might be exhausted from adjusting to life with two babies, but she is still determined to get her Kate Sloan fix in. “It took a minute, because naming one baby is hard enough. We didn’t think we’d have to name _two_. Okay, so big brother is Andrew Grayson.”  
  
“Your _maiden_ name. I love that. And I love Andrew, too.”  
  
“Thank you. Andrew for Weiss’s dad and older brother. We’ll probably call this little fella Drew though for the most part. And as for baby girl, this is Emily. Emily for my mom – that was her middle name. And for Emily’s middle name, we wanted to do something to honor you both, so we combined your names.”  
  
“Markisson?”  
  
Savvy immediately looks over at Addison after Mark makes this inquiry. She feigns exasperation. “Am I allowed to kick him out of my house?”  
  
“Always.”  
  
“I’ll keep that in mind. It’s not too late for us to change our minds though. We could always just honor Addie, you know,” Savvy winks at Mark. “Anyway. It’s _Madison_. Emily Madison.”  
  
Addison beams widely. “I love it. Andrew Grayson Becker and Emily Madison Becker. Those are both beautiful names, and I’m so grateful to get to be part of their lives. _And_ to be their godmother.”  
  
“I’m grateful, too,” Mark adds. “And if you want me to go be grateful outside, I can do that.”  
  
“I’ll let you stay for now.”  
  
Addison looks at Kate. “And how grateful are you, little one? You get a best friend and a boyfriend out of this.”  
  
Mark shakes his head quickly. “ _Addison_.”  
  
“Oh, come on. The boyfriend part is mostly a joke.”  
  
“Yeah, and it’s the ‘mostly’ part that scares me. I can see those scheming eyes of yours.”   
  
\------  
  
“Hey. I could have picked you guys up, you know,” Derek says to Mark on Wednesday afternoon. He received a page a few minutes ago notifying him that Mark Sloan just received operating privileges at Seattle Grace, and is waiting near Chief Webber’s office for him. They are planning to meet with the patient’s parents this afternoon and walk them through tomorrow morning’s procedure.  
  
“We got a rental. Addison had concerns,” Mark replies. He shakes Derek’s hand. It’s a little comfortable, a little uncomfortable. “Her concerns involve you driving some sort of beat-up jeep that she believes is packed with fishing equipment.”  
  
“The jeep is in perfect condition. There’s fishing equipment in it when I’m going _fishing_ , but today I’m hospital-ing. So, uh, where are…?”  
  
“They’re at The Archfield. I dropped them off and came here,” Mark answers the question that Derek did not quite finish. “Addison wanted to come and say hi, but with the time difference…well, we try not to fuck with our kid’s sleep schedule if we can help it.”  
  
Derek grins weakly. “You’re such a dad. It’s weird.”  
  
“Yeah, it kind of is, actually. So…I know we kinda texted about it, but we’d still really like to get dinner with you or something. Not tonight because of the non-fucked-sleep-schedule thing, but maybe tomorrow, or Friday? And Addison would love for Meredith to come, if she wants. If you want.”  
  
“If Meredith comes, you won’t attempt to sleep with her, will you?” Derek says, mostly joking. Mostly.  
  
“I promise I won’t.”  
  
\------  
  
_Surgery went well. Everything okay?_  
  
_Yes. We’re still close by the hospital. Just picked up some cute Seattle onesies for the twins,_ Addison replies. While Mark was in the operating room with Derek this morning, she was able to set something up with Adele Webber (they’re going to have breakfast at the hotel restaurant tomorrow), and has spent the remainder of her time walking around with Kate, exploring shops and a local playground not too far from Seattle Grace Hospital.   
  
_Derek and I are at Joe’s Bar. Come meet us._  
_Sorry. Emerald City Bar. It’s across from the hospital._  
  
  
_Aren’t you working? And is Kate allowed in a bar???_  
  
  
_We’re having coffee. And Derek says it’s fine. He knows the owner._  
  
  
_I’m texting you both when I get there and one of you needs to interrupt your date and come outside. I’m not walking into a bar by myself with a baby._  
  
\------  
  
“Mark’s getting you a coffee. If I wanted to pull a prank on you, I feel like I would come up with something a bit more creative than you bringing a not-allowed-baby into a bar,” Derek says as he climbs up the steps leading out of Emerald City Bar, where Addison is hovering with Kate on her hip. He hesitates, and then leans in to give her a half-hug. Half hug or full, it is not a one-hundred percent comfortable one for Derek, but he is getting there. Closer, anyway. “Joe said it’s fine for you to bring her in, provided you don’t ask him to serve her,” Derek then shifts his attention to the subject being discussed. “Hello there.”  
  
Kate reaches her arms out and offers a smile that is almost conspiratorial. _Mark’s smile_ , Derek thinks. He also thinks that the feelings associated with seeing this baby – the product of his ex-wife and his best friend, the product of his now _engaged_ ex-wife and best friend – is not as stomach-churning as he assumed it would be. It doesn’t send him down any sort of spiral or induce a blind rage. It’s mostly just a cute baby attached to two people he still cares about, regardless of past wrongs. Those wrongs led him to Meredith, after all.   
  
“I know _that_ look,” Derek grins.   
  
“She wants you to hold her.”  
  
“Addison, I have – we have – nine nieces and five nephews. You’ve seen this look before, too. A lot. It’s the ‘I want to pull my uncle’s hair look.’” Derek holds his arms out though, briefly looking at Addison. It’s more of a question than a demand on his part, but Addison hands over her daughter without a moment’s hesitation.   
  
“Hey there, little red. I’ve heard you’re taking my bike one day,” Derek says close to Kate’s ear when she offers him another smile, and does indeed reach for one of his dark waves. “You’re going to take my hair too? It’s okay. I think that’s fine with me,” he adds quietly.  
  
\------  
  
“Cheers on a successful surgery for you guys,” Addison lifts her mug of coffee while keeping her other hand close to Kate, who is sitting on the table (she feels like she should be judging herself for this decision, but Mark said that Joe wiped the table down for them, and Kate is a lot happier on the table than she would be if she was in someone’s lap and not really able to see everything going on around her). “We’re officially old. Toasting with coffee.”  
  
“Cheers,” Derek replies, touching his mug against hers and Mark’s from the other side of the booth. He chokes out a small laugh. “And cheers to you guys for, you know…the engagement, the baby. All the stuff that is very, very awkward for me to be aware of. But it’s not…it’s _weird_ , but I thought it would be weirder. So, cheers to things that are weird but not weirder?”  
  
“To weird but not weirder,” Mark repeats. “And to…you and Meredith?”  
  
“God, this is never going to end. You’ve got the right idea, not knowing any words yet,” Derek grins at Kate, who has plucked her pacifier out of her mouth and is holding it out to him. “Oh, is this for me? Thank you.” Derek accepts the wet pacifier. And then Kate keeps staring at him, in the funny way that babies often do. Intensely. Expectantly. Derek laughs and looks back at the adults. “Is she waiting to be coffee-toasted as well?”  
  
Mark smirks. “Well, she is half-Sloan. There’s a level of self-importance there that we’re probably going to need to work on.”  
  
“Makes sense. Alright, I won’t leave you out, Kate. We should probably include Sav and Weiss’s babies too, since they’re your future buddies. To the next, uh…generation, I guess?”  
  
“The next trio,” Addison offers softly.  
  
“To the next trio,” Derek agrees, raising his mug again. “Hey,” he brushes his thumb over the dimples on Kate’s hand. “When you’re all grown up, try to get things right a bit sooner than the senior trio. And if you become a surgeon, stay away from the paddles.”  
  
\------


	32. Stay Free

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I reference Meredith's mom and step-mom, and infer they are still alive. Because I do what I want.

**Chapter 32. Stay Free**  
  
Mark heads back to Seattle Grace with Derek following the senior trio’s coffee date, and for a myriad of hospital-related reasons (and a long conversation with Richard Webber, who was trying to convince him and Addison to relocate and join Seattle Grace full-time), he does not arrive back to The Archfield until around seven.   
  
“Hey,” Mark says quietly as he steps into the dimmed room, suspicions confirmed when he sees Kate already sleeping peacefully in the hotel’s Pack ‘N Play. Addison gives him a friendly wave from where she is sitting on the bed, mindlessly flipping through television channels, also looking a bit sleepy.  
  
“Hey,” she whispers. “I’m gonna fall asleep soon. At least with the time change I can justify being in bed before eight?”  
  
“You and me both,” Mark grins, peeling off his jacket – still slick with rain droplets – and stripping down to his boxers. He points out Kate’s hat, floral bodysuit, and light purple leggings as he walks over to the bed, the items folded neatly on a nearby chair. Addison sometimes lines up Kate’s next-day outfit the night before, and today is apparently no exception. “You’re repeating an outfit?”  
  
“I’m just repeating the _hat_ since we’re having dinner at Derek and Meredith’s tomorrow. She’ll probably only wear it for a second anyway since she’s taken to yanking them off lately, but I still want Meredith to see her in it. Just the hat though. Those are different clothes than what she wore today. I am _not_ a second-day outfit repeater, Mark Sloan.”  
  
“I should have known.” He joins her under the covers, copying her by pressing his back to the mahogany headboard. Addison frowns when she studies him a bit closer. Something is off.  
  
“Are you okay?” She asks.  
  
“Yeah. It’s just…part of the reason I went into Plastics…I could never stomach death, you know.”  
  
Her eyes widen. “Your patient…?”  
  
“Oh God, sorry,” Mark shakes his head quickly. “No. She’s fine. That was a terrible way to start that. I just meant, like, in general I could never really stomach death very well. Not that I don’t experience it as a surgeon, but for the most part…”  
  
“I know,” she finishes quietly. “I get it. A lot of your patients sign up for the pain they get. I always suspected that was _part_ of your drive to pursue a more cosmetic specialty. I didn’t think it was just…shallowness.”  
  
He manages a chuckle. “Contributing factor though.”  
  
“But your patient is doing okay…?”  
  
“She is. She’s recovering and everything looks good. But it’s just…really hard to see her like that. Her eyes are swollen shut. She’s bandaged up, and she has bruises from being poked and prodded so much recently. She’s just a baby. She’s still so little.”  
  
“You’re right,” she scoots closer to lean against him, and bends her hand around his elbow. “That part is hard, and it never _stops_ being hard. But the flip side is that when a baby heals and you’re able to improve their quality of life and give them a chance – or for me, when I do something that ensures a baby gets to make it into the world – it’s the most incredible feeling. It makes the hard part worth it. You get to see a baby heal and they get to go home and you just imagine this whole life that they’re going to live. You’re giving this patient the chance to have a whole life, Mark. And that’s incredible, even in the midst of the hard part.”  
  
He swallows thickly. “Yeah, I know. Addie? I’m sorry.”  
  
“For what? Wanting to talk about this? We’re in Seattle-Vermont. I’m glad you’re telling me how you feel.”  
  
“No, for…” he shakes his head. “I’ve made hundreds of comments about your specialty before. Nothing about what you do is easy or soft. You’re an amazing surgeon and I’ve always thought that of course, but I know I’ve made a lot of snide comments about your field in general before. Some of them probably aren’t even that _old_ of comments. You know, gynie squad, pink and squishy…things like that. It was rude. And condescending. And a lot of other shitty things. So I’m sorry. Surgeons save lives, but you save lives sometimes before they’re even really _considered_ lives. Most surgeons’ second and third chances with patients are your first chances. You make sure your patients get to have a life at all.”  
  
She smiles gratefully and kisses his cheek. “Thank you, Mark. I really appreciate you telling me that. Now go ahead and lie down. I’m gonna rub your back for a little bit, okay?”  
  
“Addison -”  
  
“Who is the boss in this relationship, Mark?” She interrupts, raising an eyebrow.  
  
“You are. And Kate, actually. So really, the boss is just anyone who isn’t me.”  
  
“That’s correct.”  
  
“My patient…” Mark begins once he is lying down and her fingertips are moving soothingly along the knots of his spine. He clenches his teeth, trying to fight against the tightness in his throat. “She’s wearing arm restraints right now so her hands don’t go near the surgical site. Those limb holder things…they’re not hurting her and it’s for her own good since it’s a safety thing, but…” he pauses, and he knows that Addison is thinking about Kate as well. “You know how much babies like to put their hands on their face.”  
  
“What’s her name?”  
  
“Luna.”  
  
“Luna,” she repeats softly. “That’s a really pretty name.”  
  
“Yeah.” He doesn’t complain when Addison holds him a little tighter.   
  
“Should I distract you with five questions? I mean, at this angle my breasts are essentially in your face. That has to be nice, at least.”   
  
“Oh, believe me. It is,” he kisses her near the top of her sternum and she swats at him lazily. “Nah, no questions. Distract me with wedding stuff.”  
  
“Because you _want_ to discuss wedding stuff or because it’ll put you to sleep?” Addison says with a laugh, scooting back to look at him while she speaks and to ensure he is paying attention to her, not just her breasts.   
  
“Both.”  
  
The “bigger” details have mostly been arranged (Addison is nothing if not a planner, and they are working with a relatively short timeframe), and their guests have been casually notified to save the date via text message. They intend to have an unfussy ceremony when they get married this December at a luxury boutique hotel off Madison Avenue (unfussy perhaps, but expensive) and then adjourn to the hotel’s restaurant for dinner.   
  
None of what Addison envisions for the “subdued winter wonderland vibe” of the room where the ceremony will take place makes much sense to Mark from a visualization perspective, but he listens anyway to her ideas: rich green garland and chiffon twisted around an arch; a bouquet of cream-colored roses, eucalyptus, and brunia berries; silver wood Chiavari chairs; a small accent table near the wedding arch that they can place her bouquet and the rings on for safekeeping, since they aren’t planning on having a bridal party; ornate tabletop lanterns filled with fairy lights lining the aisle; and maybe hand-blown glass ornaments as wedding favors.   
  
“And let’s see…what else. Oh. Dresses. I’m not planning on wearing a white dress, just so you know.”  
  
Mark smirks at this, a joke already brewing. “Pretty sure you weren’t a virgin when you married Derek either. Also, there’s a baby over there who looks exactly like you. People are gonna know, Addie.”  
  
“Ass.”  
  
“I’m just kidding. What do you want to wear?”  
  
“Something more…second wedding-ish. Simple. Nothing sparkly or bead-ish or veil-ish. A color that isn’t blinding white. Does that sound okay to you?”  
  
“Honestly, it’s really hard to envision what the hell you’re talking about. But wear what you want, Addie. It doesn’t matter to me, provided I get to take whatever it is off later that night. Now, what do you want _me_ to wear?” Mark grins in anticipation. “I’m assuming you have a preference on my attire?”  
  
“Yes. Dark blue tux. Gray tie. I think that will go nicely with some of the dresses I’ve been looking at and the dress I’m thinking about for Kate,” she scoots away to swipe her phone off the bedside table, and then pulls up a dress she recently saved to her home screen. She shows Mark the current frontrunner for Kate, a long-sleeved, tulle and lace white dress with a silver flower sash.  
  
“Cute. Assuming this is for our daughter though, not you,” he teases.   
  
“Correct,” she sets her phone aside. “Along with a headband or bow she’ll probably tear off right away. And as far as myself…I may not plan on being a traditional-looking bride, but I still want to do the thing where we don’t see each other before the ceremony.”  
  
“Okay. And what about a…Honeymoon thing? Are we doing that?”  
  
“I think we should. Do you want to just be predictable in a good way and do Cape Cod? With the third wheel? After we get married I’m still _all_ for the two of us having a night at the hotel and giving our kid to Savvy and Weiss overnight – or Lauren if she’s available because three babies sounds awful – but I don’t think I can be away from Kate for more than one night. That would be a lot of crying, and there shouldn’t be any crying on one’s Honeymoon.”  
  
“I was kind of thinking the same thing – after the hotel night, go up to Cape Cod for a few days with Kate. We won’t be able to have screaming-loud sex if she’s there, but -”  
  
“We don’t have screaming-loud sex.”  
  
Mark smirks. “Oh, I beg to differ. I may not scream, but there have definitely been a few times where _you_ have.”  
  
“I guess that’s kind of true. Well, it’s gonna suck for whoever shares a wall with us at the hotel then.”  
  
\------  
  
“There are as many toys and stuffed animals in here as there are actual diaper products,” Mark comments, slinging the diaper bag over his shoulder as they approach Meredith Grey’s house Friday evening, located on a high hill in a quiet neighborhood with large houses.  
  
“You’ll thank me during dinner when we attempt to keep Kate occupied to ensure some semblance of table manners on her behalf,” Addison says as she rings the doorbell. She can hear shuffling inside, and a few moments later, Derek opens the door with Meredith hovering close behind him. The petite blonde ends up being the one to speak first.   
  
Meredith grins, appearing absolutely delighted when she sees what Kate is wearing. “The hat,” she says simply.   
  
Addison smiles back at her. Everything about having a child has made her more maternal and sentimental towards most human beings, so this expression from Meredith is so damn cute she almost wants to squeal in response.   
  
“The hat,” Addison confirms as they step inside. “It’s a favorite of ours. It’s good to see you again, Meredith. This is my fiancé, Mark. He’s, um, Derek’s best friend. We -”  
  
“She’s familiar with the backstory, Addison,” Derek interjects with a strained laugh, and then glances at Meredith. “Dinner about ready?”  
  
“You know I don’t cook. Go ask Izzie,” Meredith says, waving Derek off. She smiles at Kate, who gives her a smile in return.   
  
“Would you like to hold her?” Addison asks softly.   
  
“Oh. Yeah,” Meredith says. She might be dark and twisty at times, but she does like babies and would like to have one or two someday. And the baby in front of her right now in the hat she worked so hard to make is really, really adorable. “I’d love to.”  
  
\------  
  
“So tell me what you’re all thinking for specialties,” Addison says. It’s odd, to be eating dinner with her ex-husband and his girlfriend, as well as a handful of residents she doesn’t know well, but it’s also a _relaxing_ dinner in that Meredith and Izzie have been happily passing Kate back and forth between them, which leaves Addison with _both_ hands to eat her dinner with. It’s been a minute since that was an option.   
  
“Cardio,” Cristina answers immediately. No surprise there.  
  
Meredith goes next, clasping her hands together. “I’m kind of waiting to be inspired, but most likely General. Or Trauma.”   
  
“Fetal and Neonatal for me,” Izzie says with a slow grin, adjusting Kate in her lap. “I promise I’m not just saying that because I’m sitting across the table from a world-class one.”  
  
Alex, who is on Izzie’s right, provides his answer. “Plastics,” he replies with the absolute certainty that Cristina Yang holds for her specialty, but then his brown eyes narrow when Addison’s expression changes ever-so-slightly. He is the only one who catches this. “Hey, what was _that_ look for?”  
  
“Oh, nothing,” Addison shakes her head and offers an apologetic smile. “I’m sure you’ll be a great plastic surgeon. I was honestly just thinking you might go for Pediatrics, that’s all.”  
  
Someone’s fork clatters aggressively against a dish in surprise, and then a simultaneous response echoes from every Seattle Grace doctor present at the table: “ _Seriously_?”  
  
Addison shrugs, unfazed by the group reaction. “Just a feeling. I think I’m right though. Derek, Mark – aren’t I always right?”  
  
“Yes,” both men dutifully answer.   
  
Alex rolls his eyes. “As though there is any other answer to _that_ question,” he says, which is completely accurate.   
  
“Ohhh, back talk,” Addison laughs. “I would have _loved_ to have had you as an intern. By the way,” she directs her attention to Derek. “I thought your nickname was McDreamy.”  
  
“It is, sadly.”  
  
“It’s just that when I stopped by the hospital today – I was talking with Miranda, and I heard someone say Mc _Steamy_.”  
  
“Oh, God,” Derek mumbles. “Okay, weirdos. Who’s McSteamy?” He looks at Meredith, who blushes and lowers her head, and then at Izzie, who is making herself very busy with stroking Kate’s wispy hair to the side.   
  
“Mark is McSteamy,” Cristina says when it becomes clear no one else at the table intends to answer.   
  
Mark smirks and glances at Derek. “I have a nickname. I’m…honored, I guess?”  
  
“That’s not fair,” Addison says with a frown. “I want a McNickname too.”  
  
“Oh, you have one.” Izzie smirks, lightly nudging her boyfriend. “Alex? Care to share with the group?”  
  
“Dude, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he answers with a lazy grin as Kate reaches towards him. He holds his index finger out in response, and she curls her hand around it.   
  
“Dude,” Addison parrots. “Tell me what my nickname is. And my McBaby is looking at you right now and attempting to bribe you with her cuteness, so obviously she wants to know too. Please?”  
  
Alex smirks again. “ _Fine_. I might have said it first, but others agreed. McHot.”  
  
“McHot,” she repeats, starting to laugh. “I love that. And like Mark, I am also honored to have a part in your guys’ weird ‘Mc’ thing.”  
  
“Yeah, we’re quite the bunch at Seattle Grace,” Derek says. “Well, the old people at the table have been toasting to a lot of weird, sentimental things lately so…” he holds his half-drunk beer up. “To McFriends and McFamily.”  
  
“McFriends and McFamily.”  
  
Mark lifts his beer. He knows there is no going back from that night in New York. Everything has forever changed. His relationship with Derek, no matter how much it has improved and been rebuilt since last winter, will always, always be a bit different, a bit lacking in sameness when it comes to friendship and surrogate brotherhood. But when Derek laughs and gives him a one-shouldered shrug before taking a long pull of his beer, Mark thinks that, maybe, they are McBoth again.   
  
\------  
  
The plan is to leave early on Monday, after a final check-in with Luna and her parents the day before. The little girl is expected to be discharged soon, and Mark is agreeable to monitoring her progress from New York, and returning in the future if needed.  
  
On Saturday morning, Mark and Derek secure tickets to an afternoon Mariners game (after Mark has received permission from Addison to attend). And while the gentlemen are off at T-Mobile Park, Addison comes back to the hotel room after a play date for Kate and Tuck at Miranda’s house, ready to put Kate down for a nap. Kate is not particularly interested in this though, so Addison and her daughter are playing on the floor when a light knock is heard, so light Addison thinks maybe it didn’t actually happen. She goes to the door to check anyway though, leaving Kate playing with one of her musical toys. She glances through the peephole and is surprised to see Meredith.   
  
“Hey,” she says, opening the door.   
  
“Hey,” Meredith responds. She is clutching Maggie the elephant in her hand – it occurs to Addison they must have left it at her home yesterday. “I got your room number from Derek, who asked Mark. I think one or both of them were supposed to text you to let you know I was coming. But, uh, you seem surprised, so I’m guessing that didn’t happen.”  
  
“It probably did happen,” Addison says in their defense. “I have my phone on silent because my kid is supposed to be napping right now, but…” she pulls the door open wider and moves to the side so Meredith can see. “That’s not happening at the moment. Do you…um. Do you want to come in?”  
  
“Oh I…I don’t have to. It’s okay. I just came by to drop off the stuffed…” Meredith trails off when Kate notices her. The little girl lets out a joyful shriek and wiggles the upper half of her body. “Well, I’ll just come in for a minute. I don’t want to take up too much of your time.”  
  
“Oh, you’re fine. It’s nice to hear another adult voice, or anything other than _that_ ,” Addison says when Meredith takes a seat on the floor next to Kate. She gestures to the toy Kate is playing with. “This toy has different volumes, and sometimes she inadvertently finds the button that makes the music louder. It’s not my favorite thing about her, honestly.”  
  
“I get that,” Meredith replies with a laugh. “So you guys head back Monday?”  
  
“We do. Thank you, again, for dinner by the way. That was a lot of fun.”  
  
Meredith smiles her agreement. “Yeah, it was.”  
  
Addison inhales, feeling surprisingly nervous, although nothing is really intimidating about Meredith Grey. “Is it weird that – well, parts of this will _always_ be weird because of all the history and how you and I met, I know that – but is it weird that I…kind of want to be friends with you?”  
  
Meredith tilts her head, a shy smile tugging at her lips. She has Cristina, her person and her soulmate. She has Derek, the love of her life. She has an Alzheimer’s-stricken mother who things weren’t easy with even before the disease began tunneling its way through her mother’s brain. She has a strained relationship with her father, a developing relationship with her…well, _step-mother_ is the appropriate term, even though she doesn’t really think of Susan that way quite yet. And the bomb (the metaphorical one, not the other one) dropping that was Lexie starting her residency at Seattle Grace no longer feels as unsettling, so she has a sister. And she already has friends, _good_ friends: George, Izzie, Alex. But she doesn’t have an Addison friend, and she thinks that, weirdness aside, she might like one.  
  
\------  
  
The flight back is much, much better for Kate (which makes it better for her parents). There is crying during take-off, but a few minutes after hitting their cruising altitude, Kate falls asleep in her mother’s arms. Addison and Mark both breathe a sign of deep relief.   
  
“Hey, Addison?” Mark asks. “As far as the Honeymoon, I’m definitely still down for a hotel night and then Cape Cod, but I had an idea…”  
  
 _Oh God_ , she thinks.   
  
“…of something else we could do afterwards. Maybe a handful of days at the beach house, and then one other thing? I was sort of hoping it could be a surprise for you though.”  
  
“That makes me very, very nervous, Mark.”  
  
“But it would be a good surprise,” he insists. “And a _funny_ one. A good-funny one.”  
  
“Now that just scares the hell out of me.”  
  
Mark deliberates for a moment and then grins sneakily, still determined. “If I run it by Savvy and she tells you it’s a good idea, _then_ can I have your permission to plan it?”  
  
“Yes. That I can live with.”   
  
\------


	33. Interlude

**Chapter 33. Interlude**

“What do you think? Last one.” Addison does a dramatic half-spin for Savvy, showing off the floor-length, off-the-shoulder gown she’s currently wearing. She attempts to keep her face expressionless while she watches for her friend’s reaction. The first dress Addison tried on, four dresses earlier – the steel gray one with the fitted bodice and sheer-lace half sleeves – remains her favorite, and has been her favorite since she first saw it a few weeks ago, but the opinion of her best friend is still influential when it comes to making a decision on what gown to walk down the aisle in.  
  
Savvy tips her head, considering. “I really like it – gray and silver are such nice colors on you, and perfect for a December wedding – but the first one is still my favorite. It just seems like the most romantic and eye-catching. This is a fun fashion show though. I’m glad I get to see these ahead of time.”  
  
“I’m glad you’re having a good time. The first is my favorite too, but I wanted you to see the others I narrowed it down to anyway. Just to be sure.”  
  
“And apparently Kate wanted to as well,” Savvy grins at the baby gurgling in her arms – bigger and much more wiggly than _her_ babies, but only having to juggle one baby makes this more relaxing in some ways. The twins are at home with Weiss, and Mark came over to watch a Rangers game and probably a myriad of other things via constant channel-flipping – both men agree October is the best month in terms of available sports to watch. “You could have left this little munchkin with the boys, you know,” Savvy continues. “They could handle three babies. I know I like to give Mark a lot of shit, but I would leave, like, a platoon of babies with him. He’s the most obnoxious and punchable man in the world, but he’s a really, really good dad.”  
  
“I know. It’s more of a -”  
  
“Not wanting to be apart from your kid thing? I get that. Even though I’m apart from Em and Drew at the moment and I’m…kind of _loving_ it?”  
  
Addison laughs, stepping down from the fitting platform. “I understand that feeling, believe me. Especially since they’re not even two months yet. Motherhood is so weird. It’s a hailstorm of guilt and five-thousand sanctimonious mommy blogs. But no, I was going to say this is more of a _shallow_ thing. I brought Kate’s dress for the wedding with me because I want to see what her dress and my favorite one look like together. Maybe you can change her into it while I get back in the first one, if you don’t mind? It’s in the diaper bag. I need the visual – for pictures in general, of course, but also in the event that I’m holding her on my hip during my vows. She’s being an angel right now, and she loves her Aunt Savvy, but she’s been experiencing some separation anxiety lately. And then there’s just the fact that she’s a baby. I’m expecting a few hiccups during the actual ceremony.”  
  
Addison directs a smile towards Kate. Her daughter gives her a gummy, first-tooth-close-to-breaking-the-surface grin in response, but is otherwise perfectly happy to continue playing with a multi-colored activity cube while curled up in Savvy’s lap. The middle of October has brought forth a lot of new milestones and developments. Kate responds to her name, sits without support, loves her stuffed elephant, is getting closer to crawling, has mastered rolling in both directions, grabs at her feet, wants to put everything in her mouth (feet included), likes seeing the Halloween decorations flanking the Upper East Side, can move toys back-and-forth between her hands (she loves stacking toys now and anything that lights up), and she laughs – belly-laughs, really – when they’re at the park and Mark crunches fallen leaves between his fists for her to see.  
  
The plan is for Kate to sit with Savvy and Weiss during the wedding ceremony. Their nanny has a conflict that weekend, so she isn’t an option, but since the Beckers are not planning on bringing the twins (Savvy’s text said “Lmao NO” when Addison asked if she was), having Kate with them is the best option. And if Kate suddenly develops an aversion to her godparents, there are other family members and friends present who would be happy to hold her (for whatever reason, Kate really loves Addison’s father in particular). That said, Addison is prepared for the possibility that at some point during the ceremony, her daughter will wind up in hers or Mark’s arms. And she is okay with that.  
  
Savvy nods in agreement. “I’ll do my best to control her, but yeah, her being more mobile doesn’t help either. I think she’s going to be an early crawler. Scooting by then for sure. You seem oddly calm about potential hiccups though. I was expecting more…neurotic-ness from you.”  
  
“I’m sure it’s coming and you’ll get to experience it,” Addison smirks. “Probably closer to the actual ceremony. You know these things rarely go off without a hitch though, and having a baby present – because it’s not like I can duct tape her mouth – sort of guarantees it won’t be perfect. Perfect is overrated though. Oh, and by the way…did Mark talk to you about some sort of… _plan_ he has? After we spend a few days in Cape Cod for our kid-included Honeymoon, he wants to do something else before we come back home. I told him he needs to run it by you first. Not only did he think it was a good idea, but a _funny_ one. I’m concerned. Very, very concerned, actually.”  
  
“He told me. On a related note: let me know if you guys need to borrow an air horn and insect repellent…oh my God, I’m _kidding_ ,” Savvy bursts into laughter when an expression of horror shifts over the bride-to-be’s face. Savvy had other examples she wanted to run through – namely, hiking boots, sleeping bags, and fire starter squares – but she takes pity on Addison first. “Don’t worry, it’s indoors and you’ll have a fun and relaxing time. You’ll love it, actually. Kate will too. I promise. It’s not the location itself that’s funny…but I can’t say more than that because I don’t want to spoil it. Just know that I laughed when Mark provided me with some context, and you know I try never to laugh at anything he says. And I would tell you if it was stupid. When it comes to ideas though, Mark is like that expression about a broken clock – he’s entitled to occasionally be right about something. So you’re just gonna have to trust us both.”  
  
“I don’t like that, but I’ll try. Alright, let me go put the winning dress back on.”  
  
“Addie?” Savvy calls before Addison heads into the dressing room. “I’m so glad you’re happy. It’s great to see you like this – you haven’t been this happy in a long, long time. And even though Mark is truly the most obnoxious and punchable man to walk the earth, I do love him for you, and I love how much he loves you and Kate. You deserve this, you know.”  
  
“Thank you, Sav. Can I tell Mark you said that?” Addison says with a playful grin, already certain of her friend’s answer.  
  
“Absolutely not. I don’t want him thinking I’ve gone soft.”  
  
\------  
  
“It’s always going to be us going to Sav and Weiss’s from now on, isn’t it?” Mark asks on Halloween. He grins to provide some reassurance that this is not a problem, but just a good-humored observation. Their plan for the evening (because there is _always_ a plan now that there’s a baby) is to eat an early dinner and then head to Savvy and Weiss’s pretty much just to take pictures of the babies in their Halloween costumes. And while Mark and Addison are working their way through their adult dinner and simultaneously offering Kate tiny mouthfuls of pureed pears, they are already thinking ahead to what items they still need to toss in the diaper bag.  
  
“Yes. Until Emily the polar bear and Andrew the lion can pack for themselves, I would imagine so,” Addison answers with a resigned grin. “Look how long it takes us to get out the door with just _one_ baby. Can you imagine having to do this with two?”  
  
“God, no. I can barely get myself out the door as it is.”  
  
“Believe me, I know. Hey, just curious – what did you wear for Halloween when you were a kid?” She gestures towards Kate’s adorable lamb costume, currently folded on the kitchen counter awaiting its occupant (they are not foolish enough to feed her in the costume).  
  
“I was usually just a superhero or a Yankee,” Mark replies. “Derek’s mom would always hand-make his and his sisters’ costumes, and once we became closer friends, she would make costumes for me too, and I would go trick-or-treating with them – but I think I stopped wearing costumes earlier than most kids. One time Derek and I were pirates though, and Carolyn made Amelia a parrot costume – she was like one at the time, so she had zero say in the matter – and we took turns carrying her around all night on our shoulders. I think I carried her more though, because one: Derek was kind of a scrawny weakling. And two: in an occurrence that will surprise no one, Carolyn had to take my pirate’s sword away at one point because I was being too aggressive with it…which left Amelia as the only available accessory. What about you?”  
  
“It varied. Usually something girly. A fairy, a princess, Dorothy from _The Wizard of Oz_ , Holly Golightly…that sort of thing. And one time I went as Jo March, but no one really got that one. I was dressed as a pumpkin for my first Halloween though…which is nowhere near as cute as what Kate will be wearing tonight.”  
  
At the sound of her name, Kate glances up from the board book that has been keeping her occupied post-pears. Her tongue slides past her lips just a little bit, her typical movement when she spies something she wants, regardless of whether or not it is something she can actually have or eat (ceiling fans and Mark’s facial hair, for example).  
  
“What are you looking at, my little lamb? Mommy’s green juice?” Addison dips two fingers into her smoothie. “You want to try a little?” She catches the look on Mark’s face, which does not surprise her; Addison is pretty regimented when it comes to introducing new foods one at a time.  
  
“Really?” He asks.  
  
“It’s fine. I’ll just give her a taste. It’s only kale, cucumbers, celery, and apples.” In the world of exciting purees so far, Kate loves apples, sweet potatoes, and pears, and has had reactions that have ranged from neutral to less enthused for carrots, bananas, avocados, and butternut squash.   
  
Addison coaxes her smoothie-drenched fingers between her daughter’s parted lips. Kate holds the liquid in her mouth for a moment, but then her tiny nose wrinkles. She leans forward and thrusts her tongue out, forcing the liquid to dribble unceremoniously from her mouth and down her bib.  
  
“Seems like that’s a _no_ ,” Addison says following this exhibition. Kate releases a whiny cry to indicate her displeasure.  
  
“Katherine Savannah,” Mark says with complete seriousness, prompting her to look over at him. “I have never loved you more than I do in this moment.”  
  
Addison rolls her eyes. “You go ahead and savor this victory for now, Mark, because there is going to come a day when Kate has to be like every other miserable kid and sit at the dinner table until she finishes her veggies. The only thing that will make her different is that her father will be stuck with her because he’s _also_ refusing to eat his veggies.”  
  
“You’ve got that right.”  
  
\------  
  
“He’s the one this time, Kitten?” Henry Montgomery asks while he and his wife are visiting for the weekend, once Mark is out of earshot, having retreated to the bedroom to take a quick work call. Henry holds Kate in his arms while she bounces against his thighs, babbling happily and smiling a pearly, one-toothed smile. Kate’s grandfather is also doing a very commendable job of not being grossed out by the spit bubbles currently rolling from Kate’s lips.  
  
Addison nods confidently. “He’s the one, Dad.”  
  
“ _She_ looks at him like he’s the one, too,” Henry tips his chin forward to indicate his bouncing granddaughter. “Not that Kate doesn’t look at you like you’d lasso the moon for her, but -”  
  
“No, I know,” Addison replies good-naturedly. “She’s a total Daddy’s Girl.” _And not just because of their mutual distaste for green foods_ , she thinks. Addison never doubts for a moment how much her daughter loves her, and if it is comfort Kate wants she looks to Addison first – but there’s just _something_ about the way she looks at Mark, and how she responds to him. Addison adores it though. What more could she really ask for in a father for her child?  
  
“I’m happy for you, Addison. Your mother and I both are.”  
  
“We’re both what, Henry?” Isabelle asks as she comes into the living room with several drinks balanced on a tray, even though Addison insisted she could do it; grandmother-hood (not that Isabelle would ever call it that; she is referred to as Bebe, _never_ the G-word) seems to have softened her mother a bit though.  
  
“We’re both happy for our daughter. About the upcoming wedding.”  
  
Isabelle nods in agreement as she passes out drinks. She then completes a trade with her husband, handing over a glass of iced tea in exchange for her granddaughter. “Yes,” she balances Kate on her hip. “We really are.”  
  
“This one needs to stick though,” Henry continues with a teasing-but-also-not-really grin. He lowers his voice. “I’m not walking you down the aisle a third time, you know.”  
  
“Oh, actually…” Addison blushes and offers a diminutive smile, hoping she can explain this in a way that does not cause any hurt feelings. “I’m actually not going to do the traditional dad-and-daughter aisle thing this time. It’s not you – it’s just something I want to do solo, because certain things about me are just…different now. I want you in the first row to watch me though.”  
  
This is one of the first things Addison thought about when it came to planning a second wedding. The first time down the aisle, she walked with her father to marry a man she loved very much, but also a man who she didn’t necessarily know if he was the one or not. This time is different.   
  
Mostly though, _she_ is different. Almost a year and-a-half ago, she blew up her marriage and everything she thought she knew about who she was, tumbling forward into a dark, scary new place. Things were a little dark before that, too, when she was muddling through the shadowy confines of an unhappy marriage, but the aftermath was even darker. She managed to carry herself forward from that place though. Mark may have brought the sun out again and Kate may have raised it to high noon, but she also found a lot of strength, resilience, and mindfulness within _herself_ to be able to claw her way out of the darkness and find happiness. So, yes. She will walk herself down the aisle this time.   
  
“Even better,” her dad responds with a sharp nod. “I can show up right before the ceremony starts then.”  
  
“Aha, no. You will arrive with at _least_ twenty minutes to spare, and will sit in the seat I tell you to ahead of time.”  
  
“Well…” Henry glances at Isabelle, smirking knowingly. “Some things may be different about you now and what you want for this wedding, but I can see that you still have the same stubbornness and Type A stuff locked down.”  
  
Addison laughs. “Yeah, I kind of do.”  
  
\------  
  
They have slowly, slowly dipped back in to being physically-at-the-hospital on-call, and on occasion, work late enough that stars are pinned to blue-black skies when they arrive back at the apartment (one at a time though so that one of them is always home to put Kate to bed for the night; they are not willing to divert from this). Tonight is such a night for Mark, and he yawns tiredly as he makes his way into the master bedroom. He went to Kate’s room to sneak a peek at her first, but a Post-it on her closed door alerts him that she is in bed with Addison. This does not particularly surprise him. After a blissful few months of Kate mostly sleeping through the night, she has taken to waking up once or twice a night again. If they are lucky, they can just stay in bed and laugh while Kate babbles ( _loudly_ ) through her entire catalogue of vowel chains before drifting back to sleep. If they are less lucky though, they wake up to the sound of Kate fussing for no apparent reason other than what Addison reports is separation anxiety and infant FOMO. Mark assumes tonight was the latter scenario, and although Addison has _said_ they need to stick to their bedtime routine and comfort Kate without removing her from her crib in order to remind her that it’s nighttime, not hang-out-with-Mom-and-Dad time, it is clear to Mark that his fiancée is just talking a big game.  
  
He utilizes the guest bathroom to strip down to his boxers and wash up so he can limit the amount of noise (it would probably be fine, but not taking any chances with a sleeping baby is always preferred), and then heads into the bedroom, smiling when he spots both redheads sleeping peacefully. Addison is cocooned in a fleece throw blanket (he notices she has left a similar one on Mark’s side of the bed), and Kate is snuggled next to her on top of their fitted sheet, a pacifier between her pursed lips and clothed in a blue sleep sack festooned with woodland animals.  
  
Mark leaves his side of the bed untouched for now and crawls in behind Addison. He wraps an arm over her waist and reaches for one of her hands, cupping his fingers around hers. She stirs a little under his arm, inhaling sleepily.  
  
A shrink he once paid an exorbitant amount of money to over a period of two years told him once that behind Mark’s rugged and confident exterior, he was self-destructive and self-loathing to an almost pathological degree. This was something Doctor Wallace said that Mark did not really need to be out four-hundred dollars to know about himself. Testing limits; a distaste for meaningful intimacy that conflicted with a dislike for sleeping alone; the recklessness born from a fear of vulnerability; one foot always out the door; less-than-healthy habits; and the way he found such perpetual comfort in being miserable and destroying anything good. Most of these he can trace back to emotionally detached parents and poor boundaries – it was all just reflexive, twisted patterns of starkness with him. Whether they were conscious or subconscious actions on Mark’s part, it was just a world of his quiet creation. His game. With wins and losses along the way.   
  
But it is not a game anymore. Not since things started with Addison. She is here. She is now. And although he is better for having met her, for being with her, he wonders sometimes if he really did change, or if this version of himself was just in hibernation. Sometimes it just feels like he _became_ himself with her.  
  
“What did I do to deserve this?” Addison asks, as though she is somehow reading aloud his thoughts, which briefly startles him.  
  
“What?”  
  
She moves her body closer, and then clarifies: “I figured you’d go to sleep on your side of the bed…that Kate would be in the middle so you can be closer to the president of the Green Juice Sucks Club.”  
  
“I figured she wouldn’t be in our bed at all.” Mark says it teasingly so she understands there is no judgment. He knows without a doubt he would have done the same thing, probably would have caved before her. Kate is sometimes able to push herself into a seated position now, and he really cannot think of many things sadder than walking into your baby’s room to find her sitting up, tears stuck to her cheeks, and holding her arms out for you. It is hard not to swoop her up and immediately bring her back to bed when it happens.  
  
“Yeah, well. I’m a softie,” Addison replies guiltily. “Sorry not sorry.”  
  
“Kate has that effect on people. And she knows it.”  
  
“How was…” she stifles a yawn. “How was your shift?”  
  
“Good. Go back to sleep, Ad. I’m still planning on joining President Kate on the non-vegetable-loving side of the bed, but I just…” a blush creeps across his cheeks. “I wanted to lie with you for a little bit first. You know, like this.”  
  
“You’re a softie too, Mark,” she murmurs, but is certainly not complaining about the opportunity for closeness and attachment with him. She lets her eyes slip shut again, feeling his heart beat soothingly against her back.   
  
Mark grins into the curve of her neck as her breathing evens. “I never claimed not to be one with you,” he whispers.  
  
\------


	34. Blush (Only You)

**Chapter 34. Blush (Only You)**  
  
Addison joins Mark under the covers with a tired, but-mostly-content smile. Kate is sleeping peacefully now. Mark is almost sleeping peacefully, hands tucked behind his head as he fights off sleep a bit longer.   
  
“Eleven years from now…” Addison begins when he reaches a hand out to map the shape of her jaw with his fingers. They are a little more than a week removed from December eighth. Their wedding day.  
  
“We’re gonna be dangerously close to fifty. Yikes.”  
  
“Eleven years from now…” Addison says again, flush rising in her cheeks, even though she one-hundred percent has no idea where she is going with this. She just knows she needs to find a way to have this Conversation, even though she shouldn’t need this reassurance, definitely shouldn’t need it after all this time. Thankfully, Mark seems to pick up on both the unfinished thought and the need to talk about this. His hand stills against her cheek as he studies her closely.  
  
“Eleven years from now I will love you as much as I do right now. That won’t change, okay? I’m not ever going to be absent – if anything you’re going to lose your damn mind because I’m just like, _bam_ , going to be here all the time and constantly in your way. If you’re having doubts though…” he offers a teasing grin, “the getaway car thing is going to be kind of awkward since we share a kid together.”  
  
Addison swallows heavily and attempts to shake her head while one cheek is pressed into the curve of a pillow. “It’s not a second thoughts thing. I love you and I know you love me. I’m just kind of nervous.”  
  
“Me too,” he admits. “And that’s okay. We know it’s right, but it’s still a big deal. Do you want to go under the covers and do the Vermont thing?”  
  
“I…I just want you to give me a hug.”  
  
“I can do that,” Mark says, drawing her into his arms and helping her get her head settled on his chest. He wipes an anxious tear away from the arch of her cheekbone. This sudden reaction does not entirely surprise him. Mark had a sense it might be coming. It’s just an Addison Thing, nothing that is cause for alarm, nothing that stitches any doubts or insecurities in him. She’s worth the occasional mental and emotional hurdles that come up. “Addison…you’ve been hurt before. And so have I – in different ways, possibly less significant ways, but…we’ve both experienced a lot of loneliness, disappointment, and abandonment in relationships, whether it’s about marriages or childhoods or both. But this – _us_ – we’re different. We love each other and this is right. Do you want to play five questions so we can focus on something else for a bit?” He sees and feels her head tip up in a nod. “Yeah? Okay, let’s see…name five things you think describe future Kate Sloan. It can be anything – personality, things she likes, whatever.” This question makes her giggle, and it is instantly the most beautiful noise he has heard all day.   
  
“One: she’ll have the same tiny gap in her front teeth that I did for like all of first grade. Two: she’ll play sports. I sort of see her as part of a team, as like a feisty point guard or a middle infielder whose baseball or softball pants are going to need to be washed constantly because I _know_ she’s going to be one of those kids who will slide into bases just for the hell of it, not just when she’s avoiding a tag.”  
  
Mark chuckles. “I can totally see that.”   
  
“Three: she’ll be a good, nice friend to others. Especially Em and Drew. Four: there will be one or two vegetables she likes provided she can cover them in ranch dressing, but she’ll hate everything else. Five: she’ll love to read.”  
  
“That’s good. Okay, how about -”  
  
“Hey, Mark, I kind of want to…” she interrupts, leaning up to look at him, the point of her chin balanced on his chest. “Will you dance with me at -”  
  
“Now?”  
  
“No,” she laughs shortly. “Let me finish. Why on earth would you think _now_?”  
  
“Addison, please remove the tone of surprise from your voice. We both know I think and say a lot of stupid things. Keep going though.”  
  
“I mean on our wedding day. I think I’d kind of like to have a first dance together. We probably can’t dance during dinner. It’s not that big of a room where we’re having the reception and I would feel weird dancing in the back of a restaurant. Maybe afterwards, we can just play something off one of our phones in the hotel room. You know, before we…” she presses her lips together, holding back a smile.  
  
“The Vermont card is now in play. Before I do that zipper thing that turns you on so much? And see how many times in one night I can make you -”  
  
“God, _Mark_ ,” she buries her face into his shoulder, laughing.  
  
“Fine. Sorry. What do you want to dance to?”  
  
Addison settles back down, cheek to muscular chest as she considers for a moment. “I can’t believe I’m going to say this, but…surprise me. You can pick. No Clash though. And it can’t be a song that, uh, you wrote.”  
  
“So no singing…no singing…the woman I love has a nice rack and she’s great in the sack…and looks…looks hot in panties that are black?” Mark smirks when she groans. “I _swear_ that just came to me – which is all the more impressive, actually. I’m just really, really good with perverted rhymes.”  
  
“Why am I marrying you again?”  
  
“Because I tricked you into it. _And_ because we’re good together, we make each other happy, we have an awesome kid, we’ve learned to like the rain together, and we love each other – now, eleven years from now, and many years from now when, despite my profession, we give in to having wrinkles and forgo Botox.”  
  
“We’ll see about that last one.”  
  
“Feeling a little better, Red?”  
  
She nods, a smile gracing her lips. “Can you rub my back for a bit though?”  
  
“Yeah, always.”  
  
“And you’ll love me forever.” It is mostly just a statement, not really a question.   
  
“I absolutely will.”  
  
“Me too. There was…there was something missing before I fell in love with you. But I didn’t know what it was. I just knew something was missing in my life. But then I fell in love with you, and it turns out _you_ were what I was missing,” Addison exhales slowly, much calmer. His lips press against the top of her head.  
  
She is not the same starry-eyed, fairytale-worshipper that she was in her twenties and early thirties. Real relationships are messy and raw and involve a lot of compromise and hard discussions.   
  
But they can also be beautiful.   
  
\------   
  
“Hey…” Mark answers Derek’s incoming call at the same time Kate releases an unruly shriek. He winces. This is a new “thing” of hers. It is not his favorite thing.  
  
“Hey. Is, uh, everything okay?”  
  
“Oh, yeah. Kate’s found her voice recently and she knows we’ll look at her if she screeches like that. It’s…loud. I think it’s my fault, actually. I’ve told her she’s cute too many times, so now she thinks everything she does is cute. And this is a decidedly _not_ cute thing she’s doing.”  
  
“Got it. Hey, what does your howler monkey child want for Christmas, by the way? Meredith wants to get her something. So by default I guess I do too.”  
  
“Oh, that’s nice of you guys. You don’t have to do that. But, uh, let’s see…honestly, right now her favorite toy is a wooden spoon…”  
  
“We are not sending her a utensil set. And I’m assuming since Addison is her mother, she doesn’t need more books.”  
  
“She really doesn’t. She loves musical toys, anything that has buttons, and blocks – she likes to try to stack them and knock them over. Oh, and she takes ‘big girl baths’ now, so you could always get her bath toys. She loves the water.”   
  
“Okay, thanks. I’ll pass that along to Mer. And, Mark? I’m actually calling because I know it’s, uh, a few days away from your…big day. So I just wanted to say…congrats, I guess. And have fun.”  
  
Mark swallows nervously. “Any advice for me? Besides the obvious what-not-to-do eleven years from now?”  
  
“No advice. Not really.”  
  
“Do you remember what I said to you before your wedding, Derek?” He asks quietly. “Before we went up on the altar.”  
  
Derek laughs. “I remember you telling me that one woman for the rest of my life is not what God intended. And _my_ , how the tables have turned.”  
  
“Yeah. But I also said that…I said that you would never find another friend as good as me. Ever. And…I don’t know. I’ve just been thinking about that lately. We grew up together, we went to med school together…you’re kinda like my better half.”  
  
“Don’t tell that to your soon-to-be-wife. But, apparently my thing for ferry boats is as strong as my thing for hopeless cases. You’re still my friend, Mark. You _shouldn’t_ be, probably, because of what happened, and it’s different now, but – you’re still my friend. My weird, arrogant, but now sometimes sappy best friend who is completely serious when he says things like ‘big girl baths.’ So we’ll grab a beer next time I’m out there and do another weird toast to something while your kid pulls on my hair.”  
  
“Thank you, Derek.”  
  
\------  
  
“How are you feeling?” Naomi asks quietly once the makeup artist has checked over Addison one last time.   
  
“Good.” The redhead turns to face her, light reflecting off her bronzed cheeks from the window of a room outside the main hall functioning as their bridal suite. “Nervous, but good. I think. You know, last night while I was staying in the hotel with Kate, and Mark was at home so we could do the spend-the-night-apart thing…I think that’s honestly the first time since last winter that I’ve spent a full night sleeping without him.”  
  
“Mark Sloan, turning into a family man,” Naomi shakes her head, smiling. “Who would have thought?”  
  
“No one. Absolutely no one,” Savvy provides the answer. “You…you really do not want my help, do you?”  
  
“With what?” Addison spins around, curls rolling forward as an anxious expression coats over her face. Such a question makes her wonder if something is _wrong_ – with her hair, with her makeup, with her dress, with anything. Having Naomi and Sav in the room with her has been helping. Seeing her mother – just briefly before Isabelle went to take her seat with her husband – unexpectedly helped as well. But she is still a bit jittery.   
  
Savvy shakes her head quickly. “Oh, sorry. I’m talking to your kid. Not you. I’m trying to assist with the bottle. I know she can hold it on her own, but I’m also trying to ensure she doesn’t dribble milk and drool all over her dress,” Savvy says, a receiving blanket hovering under Kate’s chin. Kate sucks greedily on the bottle – a feeding timed with precision to ensure she won’t start crying for food during the ceremony.  
  
“I appreciate that,” Addison smiles at her daughter, who looks beautiful to her always, but particularly beautiful today. Kate’s hair is longer now, wispy copper fringe contrasting against the pale blue of her eyes and dark lashes. She looks like a “big girl” in her current outfit, a white dress that billows out at the bottom like a tutu, and a pair of suede, blush-toned Mary Janes that tie across the top of her feet. “It’s those stubborn Sloan and Montgomery genes. But at least with the bottle in her mouth…”  
  
“She’s quiet?” Naomi finishes, glancing down at her phone when it chimes out an alert notification. “Oh, hang on. I just got a text from Sam. My separated-but-working-on-it Sam, because if you idiots – you and Mark – can make it work, so can we, or we can at least try. Be right back.”  
  
“It’s almost time. When Naomi gets back, I’m going to head out there,” Savvy says, which adheres to their plan to get Kate comfortable and settled before the ceremony starts, in the (vague) hope that perhaps she will remain that way. They have already discussed this plan, but Savvy walks Addison through the remaining details again anyway, speaking like a mother dropping her child off at school for the first time would. “And in ten minutes the event coordinator is going to come to get you, and when you’re ready, she’ll start the music.”  
  
“And then I’ll get married.”  
  
Savvy offers a confirming nod. “And you’ll get married.”  
  
“You’ll get married to a man who looks _incredible_ in a tux. He’s heading out there in a few minutes,” Naomi slips back into the room. “Here though…” she holds a folded note out to Addison. “This is for you. He wants you to read this before you walk down the aisle.”   
  
\------   
  
_Addison,_  
  
 _I know we’re saying traditional vows for a lot of reasons. Mainly because we aren’t Personal Vows in Front of Everyone kind of people, your suspicion that I would say something inappropriate (accurate), and the need to get through this ceremony in a timely manner due to our child’s sudden need to shriek and squawk. But there are a few things I wanted you to know before we get married. Bear with me, because this wouldn’t fit on sticky note._  
  
 _The way I feel about you – the way I started to feel when I first began falling in love with you – I’d never felt a feeling like that before. I didn’t know it was even possible to feel something like that. But then all of a sudden you were “it” for me. You still are. It’s you today. And it’s you tomorrow._  
  
 _It’s also about our daughter, regardless of the volume of her voice and the fake coughing thing she’s doing lately. She’s beautiful just like her mom. She’s also happy, observant, funny, and smart. It’s an honor to be her dad, and to get to do this parenting thing with you. You two are the best thing that’s ever happened to me, and I vow to do everything I can to make sure you are both happy, safe, and loved._  
  
 _We’ve survived a lot of things separately, and a lot of things together. We have never given up though. And I promise you that I won’t ever give up on you, or us._  
  
 _I’ll be waiting at the end of the aisle. You asked me a few nights ago if I would love you forever. And I said yes, because it’s truer than anything I’ve ever known to be true. But just in case you need to know it again, here it is in writing: I will love you forever, Addison Adrianne Montgomery-Sloan._  
  
 _\- Mark_  
  
\------  
  
Mark enters through a side door and heads across the room to stand in front of an elegant arch braided with fresh evergreen and white silk fabric. He says hello to Brooke, their officiant who Google helped them find, but they have come to adore due to her sense of humor and willingness to accommodate their desire to get through the ceremony quickly to hopefully prevent a baby-related meltdown.   
  
Mark nods and smiles towards the guests he can feel are trying to catch his gaze – the waiting up here alone part is painfully awkward – but otherwise focuses on his happy daughter, who is gurgling and emitting babbles that are starting to sound a lot more like syllables as of late. Kate is on the floor in front of the first row of chairs (she noticed her dad, but is mostly occupied at the moment and not feeling particularly anxious about not being right next to her parents), Savvy down on the floor next to her, the seat behind them all but abandoned. Weiss is holding a myriad of Kate-specific toys, but Mark notices that her favorite ones – the stuffed elephant and wooden spoon – are discarded at her feet in favor of crushing rose petals between her hands that Savvy must have allowed her to grab from the vast arrangement of petals trailing down the aisle.   
  
“We owe you one,” he whispers to Savvy.  
  
“No worries. I can see just fine from down here,” she answers kindly, because it’s the truth, and she figures that it wouldn’t be very nice to give him a hard time today. He looks nervous. She adjusts a little to help a reaching Kate pull more petals closer, and is very grateful that she decided to wear a floor-length dress.   
  
Mark’s eyes travel to the cracked-open double doors at the room’s entrance, vision skipping past the scattered petals and silver-finished lanterns stuffed with fairy lights that frame both sides of the aisle runner, décor glowing even brighter due to the natural light flowing in through the large windows.  
  
He can hear a bit of murmuring through the doors, and then an instrumental piano version of “Can’t Help Falling in Love” begins to play. Their guests – Savvy and Kate excluded – clamber to their feet. Mark and Addison had a tough time narrowing it down to a processional song (and not just because, thanks to their daughter, “Baby Shark” has been permanently lodged in their brains for a while now), but as soon as they heard the lyrics “fools rush in” and “some things are meant to be,” they were sold.   
  
And Mark is even more sold as the music swells and Addison walks towards him, hair hanging long in soft curls and makeup a bit more makeup-ish today (but stunning). She is wearing a dress so gorgeous it looks like it was made specifically for her: a shiny gray, floor-length gown with sheer-lace half-sleeves that lead to an illusion neckline and lacy bodice, before dropping to chiffon material that hugs flatteringly at her waist. She smiles at Mark, a happy but nervous smile as she gets closer to him, and it’s just… _everything_.   
  
Addison’s stomach feels fluttery when she sets her bouquet on the accent table near their officiant that is already occupied by their wedding bands. She didn’t end up selecting a new band when they went looking; she wanted to wear her promise ring instead. It felt right to her.   
  
“You look beautiful,” Mark whispers when she turns to give him her full attention.   
  
“Thank you,” she reaches out to grab his hands. “And you look really, really handsome.” She does a subtle glance from top to bottom, eyes moving approvingly over the dark blue, two-piece Armani suit. The visual is nice, and she also does her best not to peep over at her daughter, just in case seeing mommy looking is what triggers a meltdown.  
  
“Welcome,” Brooke says in a bright, clear voice to their guests. “Please be seated. Thank you for joining us on this snowy day as we witness and celebrate the marriage of Mark and Addison. Marriage is the union of two people, but it also often unites families and strengthens a bond that already exists. The bride and groom would like to take this moment to recognize the significant role their daughter, Kate – described by her mother as ‘perfect’ and by her father as ‘ _loud_ , but also perfect’ – plays in today’s celebration. Before us today is a family drawn together by love and…held together…” their officiant throws out a strained grin when Kate starts softly crying, holding her arms out towards her parents, who look towards her immediately. “And held together by friendship, devotion, impressive surgical skills, and Addison’s patience for Mark’s terrible jokes. And also a collective patience for their cute kid.”  
  
“Again with the loud,” Mark says to Addison. He shakes his head, laughing. “Just keep going…” he says awkwardly to Brooke, who has the good sense to wait. She kind of needs him to be here for this. “I’ll get her.”  
  
Kate reaches her arms out when Mark approaches, starting to hiccup in a way that strikes him as _fake_. His suspicions are confirmed when he scoops his daughter up, which prompts a happy gurgle into his chest. She blinks up at him through thick eyelashes, and has the nerve to smile up at him with a smile that definitely appears mischievous. Her fingers tighten around the lapels of his tux and a little cooing noise she makes prompts an _awww_ to rumble through the crowd. Mark heads back over to Addison and Brooke, offering an amused grin while rolling his eyes.   
  
“Drama Queen,” he whispers teasingly to his daughter. He positions Kate in one arm, balanced on his hip, and reaches out to hold Addison’s hands again with his free one.   
  
“I knew one of us would end up holding her,” Addison whispers back with a smile that matches his in width. _It’s fitting for her to be up here with us_ , she decides. Kate is a huge part of the reason they’ve even made it to this point, after all.   
  
“Ready?” Brooke waits until they both nod. “I’ve been encouraged by the bride and groom to cut as many corners as I can, so we’ll be doing the vows in one shot. Do you, Mark and Addison, take each other to be spouses, from this day forward, to have and to hold, for better, for worse, for richer and for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death do you part?”  
  
“We do.”  
  
“And now…” Brooke reaches towards the accent table to grab their wedding bands. “The ring exchange.”  
  
Mark hesitates. “What do you think, Katiebee? Want to play with the flowers for a bit?” He sets her down between the two of them where a cluster of white rose petals are. Both Mark and Addison hold their breath, waiting cautiously.   
  
Fortunately, Kate seems okay with this plan. She does, however, look back towards her Aunt Savvy, emitting a throaty “Mm” sound several times in a row.   
  
Savvy blinks back with a confused and anxious _tell me what to do_ face. Mark and Addison both know though.  
  
“She wants the stuffed elephant. Can you bring it up here for the thunder-stealer?” Addison grins. She prides herself on not referring to the elephant by its given name, Maggie, since her friend/OB is in the second row, which may have caused some confusion.   
  
Savvy tosses the elephant to Mark (and then returns to her seat, because it is clear the youngest Sloan is not returning), who sets it down next to Kate. Kate makes a delighted “oh-oh” sound, and then scoots backwards (a new trick), dragging the animal by the ear. She adjusts herself into a sitting position by her mother’s Badgley Mischka pointed toe pumps. And then she stills, appearing perfectly content with her stuffed animal, the rose petals sprinkled around her, and her parents standing next to her.   
  
Brooke clears her throat in a friendly way to get Mark and Addison’s attention, and then holds out the wedding bands nestled in her palm. “Please go ahead and place your rings on each other’s fingers,” she pauses to give them a moment. Mark slides Addison’s diamond cluster ring on her finger, and she in turn slides a beveled-edged white gold ring onto his. “And now repeat after me: with this ring, I thee wed, and pledge you my love, now and forever.”  
  
They smile at each other, both fighting back a thrilled, disbelieving laugh as they repeat their officiant’s words. “With this ring, I thee wed, and pledge you my love, now and forever.”  
  
“Wonderful. And by the authority vested in me by the state of New York, home to the twenty-seven-time World Series champion New York Yankees…”  
  
They are pronounced husband and wife. And later, when they look back at the wedding photos, they will quickly agree on their favorite: a shot which features Kate looking up at them with an expression of wonderment – one leg shadowed by the cascading ruffles of Addison’s chiffon skirt, her tiny fists crushing the ear of her stuffed elephant, and rose petals scattered on her lap – as they share their first kiss as husband and wife.   
  
\------


	35. A Snowfall Kind of Love

**Chapter 35. A Snowfall Kind of Love**  
  
“This is exactly how you pictured our wedding night, yes? Just sitting in silence, fully-clothed?” Addison murmurs, a strained grin tugging at her lips.   
  
“Not exactly. But I’m feeling the same way you are,” Mark replies honestly as they wait and wait and wait. They’re pressed together on the loveseat in the Honeymoon Suite, her head on Mark’s shoulder, his fingers drawing light designs on her forearm through the lace of her sleeve, but they can’t really get in the mood for anything more physical and intimate until they receive an update from Savvy, their gracious tribute for the night.   
  
Kate cried when they deposited her in her godmother’s arms in the hotel lobby after their dinner-reception concluded. _Hard_. Not the fake cry for attention, not the low-pitched, lip-smacking hunger cry, not the nasally cry when there’s just a bit too much stimulation for her liking. This reaction from their daughter made Mark’s stomach briefly seize up; her sweet little face collapsing into distress about Mommy and Daddy backing away from her reminded him so much of what Addison looks like when she’s upset.  
  
“God, cell phones are seriously the new ‘watched pot never boils.’ And it’s incredible – our kid is you-know-what blocking us and she’s not even _here_ ,” Addison sighs. “Let’s talk about something else to pass the time. So…this surprise place you’re taking us to. What’s the timeline like?”  
  
“We’ll be at the beach house until Thursday, and then at the other place until Monday. We’ll be home the afternoon of the twenty-first.”  
  
“I’m not sure if I packed enough clothes…”  
  
“Savvy packed some more for you last night while you and Kate were at the hotel. I could have probably handled that, but -”  
  
“I’ll need more than just lingerie, Mark. Somehow I don’t imagine you would think to look any further than the top drawer.”  
  
“Well, partially that, but I knew Sav would be better about matching clothes. And she did the same with extra outfits for Kate.”  
  
Addison smiles weakly. “Our disruptive little hellion. Never mind that she cried so hard when we left her that I almost cried too.”  
  
“We’re gonna give her such a hard time about her antics today when she’s older. Hey…there it is,” Mark says when their phones vibrate on the coffee table. Addison’s phone is closer, so Mark reads over her shoulder.  
  
 _Hey, newlyweds! Kate is asleep. There was lots of sad crying on the ride back, but she settled down a few minutes ago. She even gave me a big smile before she fell asleep, so she’s definitely feeling better. Have a fun night! I don’t want to hear anything about it. ;)_  
  
They breathe out relieved sighs when a picture comes through of Kate, tear-free and slumbering, limbs splayed out like a starfish. She’s out of her dress and is now wearing a long-sleeved shirt with curly purple lettering _– Mommy and Daddy Got Married! –_ a gift from Naomi and Sam. And then another word bubble from Savvy starts up before they can respond with their thanks:  
  
 _Btw that last sentence was directed at Mark. Connecticut Addison would NEVER._  
  
Addison laughs, and can’t resist typing back a cheeky reply. _I’m not from CT tonight, Sav…I’ll share the highlights with you later._  
  
 _Ugh shut up. I’ll text you updates when your kiddo is awake again. Good night! Today was so much fun and I’m so happy for you both. Love you guys (even you, Mark!)._  
  
Mark shifts a little, waiting for Addison to set her phone down so they can move on to the next part of the evening, but she hesitates, taking one more look at the picture of Kate.   
  
“How did we create something – someone – so absolutely extraordinary?” She whispers fondly. “And I don’t just mean beautiful. It’s just more like…her essence. Her spirit. I know I’m horribly biased since I’m her mom, but…”  
  
“She gets it _from_ her mom.”  
  
“Aww, now you’re just turning on the charm to get me out of my dress.”  
  
Mark smirks, even though he feels it’s actually the truth. “Is it working?”  
  
“It _is_ , but remember you owe me a dance first. And not a horizontally-positioned one.”  
  
“I know. That’ll be the second one. Not that we don’t embrace plenty of vertical positions, too,” he points out. “I have some theories about sex and math basically being the same thing, you know.”  
  
 _Of-freaking-course you do_ , Addison thinks. She takes his hand once he grabs his phone, and follows him to the other side of the room near the window, bracing herself for whatever weird comment is about to hit her.   
  
“Geometry and angle-related, mostly,” he continues. “Intersecting lines. Reflex angles. Right angles – that’s ninety degrees, so basically when your legs are up in the air…acute angles…obtuse angles.”  
  
“ _You’re_ obtuse,” Addison rolls her eyes and shakes off her heels, decidedly done with them for the day. Her toes will thank her later. “Stop making me relive fifth grade math or I’m going to un-marry you.”  
  
“Too late, honey. Okay, I’m turning on the romantic charm now…one sec…” Mark quiets for a moment, thumb scrolling through Spotify until he finds the song he picked out a few days ago. It was an easy one to choose. He presses the play button and sets the phone down on the nearest available surface. “Come here,” he says, holding his arms out to Addison when the opening notes thread through the air.  
  
 _To lead a better life, I need my love to be here…_  
  
“Hey, you picked a Beatles one for me,” Addison beams in surprise as they start to move back and forth. She peers up at him. When she’s in heels, they’re nearly even, but when she’s barefoot, Mark has a few inches on her, and maybe it’s illogical, but there’s just something staggeringly romantic to her about getting to look _up_ into his eyes. They’ve turned enough that Mark’s back is now to the window. Past him, Addison can see the snow falling outside, sugary droplets kissing the window. “I love this one.”   
  
_Changing my life with a wave of her hand…_  
  
“I know. You sing this one to Kate sometimes. And I’m about to hit you with some real cheese, too: the lyric that you said makes you think of her…” Mark touches his lips to her temple, “it makes me think of you.”  
  
 _But to love her is to need her everywhere…_  
  
“Oh, Mark,” she sighs happily, pushing closer to him. “Today was so, so perfect.”  
  
“Yeah. It really was,” he chuckles quietly when Addison – because of _course_ she would lead – starts to spin them around a bit more, her movements graceful. “You know, you’re a much, much better dancer than I am.”  
  
She giggles, coming to a halt. “When I was a kid…three years, Mrs. Sobel’s Dance Academy. I do a mean shuffle.”  
  
“I’d like to see that sometime. Along with…other dance styles.”  
  
 _I will be there. And everywhere. Here, there and everywhere…_  
  
“Mm-hmm. I’m sure I know exactly what kind you’re talking about,” Addison arches an eyebrow when the song ends, prompting an immediate shift in the ambiance that they both feel. “Mark, the zipper is on the side of my dress this time, just FYI.”   
  
\------  
  
“Are you ever going to stop touching me?” Addison murmurs with a smile. She knows this is a ridiculous question, because unless or until she tells him otherwise, the answer is definitely _no_. And stopping is not her preference, anyway. Mark’s hand is rubbing over her shoulder, her arm, the sharp cut of her hip, her stomach, her thigh, and it feels good. It’s also keeping her warm as they cuddle in bed together. She threw on a silky, lace-trimmed chemise (bought with tonight in mind) after they dried off from the shower, but it just barely covers her ass, and the material is about as thick as an eyelash.   
  
She considers that she used to hold so much longing and just… _desperation_ in the past few years to have something like this. To be touched this intimately. To be cared for. Worshipped, even. From college and onward, when she first began her foray into adult relationships (whether it be casual, dating, long-term, marriage), an internal restlessness brewed in her from time to time. She needed something _more_ , even though she could never really figure out what “more” was supposed to look and feel like. And Addison knows it’s in the past, but she thinks now that in those final two or three years of her first marriage, what she classified as situational unhappiness was probably hovering a little closer to the line of depression than she was capable of self-assessing at the time. This though. With Mark. With the daughter they share. This is pure, unfiltered happiness. This is belonging. This is certainty. This is what it means when someone is the center of your world, and you’re the center of theirs.   
  
Mark’s breath is hot against the slope of her neck and shoulder as his fingers scale up her ribs. “Do you want me to stop?”   
  
“No,” she laughs. “Not at all. It was just an observation phrased more as a question. This feels great. Just as long as you know I still need some recovery time. After that last time, whatever it was you were doing with your tongue…and _kept_ doing until I thought I was going to pass the hell out…I need a solid half-hour. At least.”  
  
Mark joins her in laughing. “This isn’t really a get your engine revving again thing. I just still…I can’t believe you’re mine.” He doesn’t mean it possessively; they’re still individuals, and he knows Addison knows that. It’s just that now they belong to one another, officially. She’s here. She’s real.   
  
Addison rolls over to face him. Her fingers are soft as they push at the ashy-colored hair above his ear. “I can’t believe I _get_ to be yours.” He notes the sweetness of this response, words and cadence and expression reflecting such genuine bliss. It continues to be stirring in a way that Mark can’t quite put into a language that makes sense. He just thinks of the compassion, the drive, the grace, the intelligence, the beauty that envelops Addison – and she wants _him_. To deserve her, to deserve moments like this…it’s still unbelievable at times. (And on a shallow note, the new lingerie she stripped down to earlier when Act Two of their evening began – an ivory, thong-backed teddy that plunged generously in the front – is also a nice perk of getting to be with her.)   
  
“You wrote me a love letter,” Addison continues, voice soft and touched. “It was beautiful, Mark. I made Naomi run back to the bridal suite after the wedding to get it, because I wanted to make sure it didn’t get misplaced. And, oh no, now that I think about it – I put it in the front pouch of Kate’s diaper bag for safekeeping…and the bag is with Sav and Weiss. Poor Sav. If she goes looking for something in there and happens to find the letter, she’s going to throw up everywhere.”   
  
“Well, now I hope she finds it just for that. And yeah, I wrote you a love letter,” Mark says with a swift, embarrassed shake of his head. “Remember when I used to be a manly-man? And when we weren’t living in, like, Sap Land?”  
  
“You’re still a manly-man. Just a little sappy with the redheads in your life. Your daughter and your…wife. That’s so weird to say.”  
  
He chuckles. “Good weird though, right?”  
  
“Yep. Just like _you_ – a good weird.”  
  
\------  
  
“I can’t stop thinking about all those times we were here before she was born,” Addison acknowledges, standing near the sun-soaked window while she holds Kate in her arms. Outside, the white foam from breaking waves ripples close enough to the snow that it’s getting harder to discern where the shoreline begins and ends. “When we would lie on the porch bed and talk about her, what it would be like when she joined our family…and now we’re all here together. It’s surreal. Plus, it’s snowing; you know how winter makes me sentimental,” she concludes as Mark places a hand on her shoulder.   
  
“I do. You know, I don’t know if I’ve ever been near the ocean during the winter before. It’s so weird, seeing snow on the beach. Or ‘da-da-da’ on the beach, according to Kate. And I know it’s _just_ babbling, that ‘da-da’ isn’t something she’s assigning to me, but…” Mark shrugs, mouth slashing into a smile.   
  
“That first word is coming though. Not yet, but soon. I’m pretty sure ‘da-da’ will be her first word, actually.”  
  
“I don’t know. She makes ‘m’ sounds more than ‘d’ sounds. Plus, look at her right now,” he reaches out to stroke Kate’s hair. Her lips twitch when she looks at Mark, but she doesn’t quite make it past a half-smile; she’s about to fall asleep. “Not that she’s ambivalent towards her old man, but she’s hardly let you put her down the past two days.”  
  
“I know,” Addison smiles ruefully. “This stage will pass, and while I _should_ feel bad in the meantime that our normally easygoing, sunshiny little girl is having a tough time with separation anxiety…” she pauses, touching her lips to Kate’s velvety cheek. “I’m just loving these extra snuggles. But as soon as she’s completely down, you and I will be having some _adult_ snuggles.”  
  
“I like the sound of that.”  
  
\------  
  
“You’re really not going to tell me?”   
  
“Nope,” Mark responds, loosely knuckling the steering wheel as they make their way north. He is able to feel Addison’s dramatic pout before he turns briefly to see it. “You’ll figure it out eventually. Also, Kate might have _my_ smile, but if you keep making that face, she’ll inherit your pout.”  
  
“Nice try, but she’s asleep back there. Well, I’m going to assume you’re not planning on getting off I-95 and heading east towards Boston…I don’t think your plan is for our honeymoon to involve spending time with your parents.”  
  
“God no.”  
  
“So then…” Addison pictures an ambiguous, but colorful map of the fifty states in her head, and considers the direction they’re headed in. “ _Wait_ …” she gasps, looking over at him. “Mark, are we going to Vermont?”  
  
“Ding-ding-ding.”  
  
Addison starts to laugh. “Oh my God. That _is_ funny, actually.”  
  
“See? Sometimes I’m funny. And sometimes I have good ideas.”  
  
“Yeah. Savvy says you’re like a broken clock.”  
  
“That’s generous of her. I’m usually only right once a day, not twice,” Mark says truthfully. “We’re going to stay in Grafton for a few days. I rented a really cool house. It looks cabin-ish, but I swear it’s not too rustic and it has everything we need. You can check it out if you want – go to the bookmarks on my phone. Plenty of shopping places and restaurants close by, too. And I also booked – God, you’re gonna think this is _so_ cheesy…”   
  
Addison giggles with anticipation. “Hit me with it. I love the cheese. And the limit to cheesiness doesn’t exist on a honeymoon.”  
  
“Okay. I booked a sleigh ride for the three of us Saturday afternoon. Since, you know, it’s almost Christmas. And I thought Kate would like it. I mean, what kid _wouldn’t_ want to go for a ride in a horse-drawn sleigh? I know she’s just a baby, so she’s not going to remember it, but…”  
  
“I’ll remember it though,” Addison says, eyes sparkling. “That’s so sweet, Mark. And _ridiculously_ cheesy, but I absolutely love it. Thank you for doing this for us.”  
  
“You’re welcome. And since I’m not allowed to get Kate a pony, this is probably the closest I can get.”  
  
“True.”  
  
\------  
  
The Vermont night sky – because they are _actually_ in Vermont now, rather than it continuing to be a metaphorical representation between them with no expiration date – is hauntingly dark outside the windows of the farmhouse style home they are staying in. And it’s quiet. Dark and quiet in a way they have never experienced as New Yorkers. Even the house in Cape Cod, though quieter, is in a residential neighborhood, so light and noises constantly filter through. This is different though. The nearest house is five minutes away. There is virtually no outdoor lighting in sight. No noises beyond the crackling fire in the master bedroom’s brick fireplace, and the occasional sounds of their sleeping daughter piping through the baby monitor. It would be a little creepy at this secluded mountain property, Addison feels, if she were here by herself at this hour. She’s not though. And at any rate, they find ways to keep themselves very, very occupied at night.   
  
Addison’s lacy robe tumbles off her shoulders. She looks up at Mark through heavily-lidded eyes, pupils dilating with lust. Her chest rises and falls delicately, a flush climbing up her skin as Mark inclines his head towards her, then stops, breathing over her lips. She smiles, but they’re suspended in the moment for longer than she would prefer. He has an arm kinked around the small of her back, and the other strokes her hair, fingers rumpling through her loose curls. She makes a disgruntled noise to announce her impatience, and a smirk tugs at Mark’s mouth, because the effect he is having on her is obvious.   
  
“So slow tonight. You’re teasing me,” she says huskily, limbs humming with anticipation. Mark relents and kisses her long and deep in response, eliciting a lazy groan from her.  
  
“I’m not,” Mark says when he pulls back, even though he _is_ , just a little bit. “I’m just looking at you…” he slides both hands to her hips, and takes his time letting his gaze rove up and down, drinking everything about her in: her hair hanging long down her back; the blue eyes with flashes of green and yellow near the pupils that reminds him of sunshine spreading over the ocean; the pronounced angles of her jawline; the seductive mouth currently hiding her smile; the graceful curve of her neck with its matching sensitive spots behind her ears that he discovered the second time they were intimate together; the soft skin of her breasts spilling out temptingly from the low-set cups of her balconette bra; her lean stomach; the lacy blush waistband of her thong hugging her hips; and long, toned legs that seem to go on forever.   
  
“You’re looking at me,” she repeats, though she’s not convinced Mark is hearing her. “You could do more than just look, you know.”  
  
“You’re so fucking beautiful, Addison.”  
  
She squirms a little, happy but still impatient, wet and warm with need, and his words definitely do not help with any of this. Something about the contradiction of sweetness and vulgarity. And that irresistible smile of Mark’s. And the way he’s been studying her is definitely making her breathe heavier.   
  
“You just like looking at what I’m wearing right now.” Addison brushes pointedly against him, teasing back. She drags her fingernails over his bare chest, causing an involuntary tremor. She assumes Mark is probably fascinated by the amount of new lingerie she’s been showing off (some courtesy of Savvy in lieu of a bachelorette party Addison did not want, but obviously Savvy _doesn’t want to know anything_ about said lingerie), even though it all ends up on the floor at the end of the day. Her body is flush against Mark’s now, and when she laughs, they both feel the vibrations at the center of their bodies, where everything is already throbbing. He kisses her again, this time more desperately.   
  
“I do,” Mark confirms when she leans away to catch her breath. He tugs on her lower lip with his teeth, and negotiates several fingers under the slippery silk of her thong. “But I also like what’s _underneath_ what you’re currently wearing.”  
  
“Go ahead then,” she smiles wickedly, angling herself a bit differently so that his fingers wind up where she desperately wants them. They both moan at the new contact. “Prove it.”  
  
\------  
  
“She’s absolutely loving this,” Addison says, beaming over at Kate, who is settled in Mark’s lap, grunting and spit-bubbling happily as their carriage pulls them along. Christmas bells jingle lightly against the spruce garland-covered sides of their ride as two horses and a guide with a Santa-like beard escort them through the snowy, pristine countryside.   
  
Mark nods in agreement. “She might like checking out the scenery even more than she liked getting to touch the horses earlier…” he trails off to tuck the blanket the three of them are sharing a little tighter around Kate, even though she seems plenty warm already in her quilted snowsuit and a festive green and white beanie knotted under her chin.   
  
“And she about lost her damn mind with excitement over that,” Addison happily completes his thought. “I’m loving this too. It was such a nice idea, Mark. Kate is giving me serious little brother in _A Christmas Story_ vibes right now…you know, that scene where he was so bundled up that he couldn’t put his arms down.”   
  
“I can totally see that.”  
  
“Da-da-da-da,” Kate chatters, wiggling her heavily-padded limbs and inadvertently proving Addison’s point.   
  
“Dada is here, little elf,” Mark flashes Addison a smile. “I feel like I’m beating a dead…oh God, that wasn’t even _intentional_. I can’t finish it. Even I have my limits with puns, apparently. Anyway, I know I say it a lot, but it’s so cool when Kate says that word. The horses, the couch, her wooden spoon, and those ornaments we saw in that antique store yesterday might elicit ‘da-da’ at the moment, but I’m _also_ ‘dada’ and it’s…” his cheeks flush. “It’s just the best.”  
  
“You’re right. It _is_ the best. And those productive language words are coming, don’t worry. You just need to, you know…” Addison shakes her head, unable to stop herself. “Hold your horses.”  
  
Mark chuckles. “Wow. Addison Montgomery-Sloan…I’m rubbing off on you.”  
  
“Yeah, I know. And I hated myself as soon as I said it. Savvy would have slapped me across the face for that one.”


	36. Gentle Earthquakes

**Chapter 36. Gentle Earthquakes**  
  
 _That expression is seriously true_ , Addison told Mark once, sometime in the spring before Kate’s first birthday, when tulips and daffodils began scattering across the meadows of Central Park. _About the days being long, but the years being short._  
  
They feel joy in the milestones leading up to Kate’s first trip around the sun. She speaks early (and then does not stop), starting with _Dada_ , then _No_ , then _Mama_ , and then _Bye_. She begins waving around ten months and tells her parents “bye-bye” sometimes even when they aren’t _going_ bye-bye, and Mark and Addison aren’t sure how to feel about this apparent dismissal. Kate takes her first steps a few days before her first birthday, after a solid three months of cruising furniture, and starts offering slobbery, open-mouthed kisses around the same time (equal parts cute and disgusting).   
  
Her first birthday party is small and laid-back (no theme, just lots of colorful balloons and pictures of the birthday girl). Savvy, Weiss, Kate’s god cousins, and both sets of grandparents are in attendance, and then, at the last minute, Derek and Meredith end up coming. One of Kate’s gifts is specifically from Meredith, a shirt that says “Ready for Combat.” Mark assumes someone told the Seattle couple about a hard right hook Kate directed towards Andrew a few weeks back (and while Mark would never _force_ his daughter to play sports, hell if she didn’t swing that arm with the strength of a future third baseman). But then Addison looks over at Meredith and they exchange a knowing laugh that makes Mark realize this has to be something Swift-related that he probably doesn’t want to know about.  
  
When Kate is around fifteen months of age, Addison finally gets around to putting the brownstone on the market, and for the most part sells the house “as is.” She ships a few boxes to Derek of things she thinks he might want, though he insists beforehand that he doesn’t really want the bicycle in the basement, that it would be a waste to send it along. She adheres to this request, and ends up selling the bike on Craigslist. Addison then mails Derek a check for what she got for the bike, and pens “the (bi)cycle ends right now –TS” in the _from_ line on the check just to mess with him.  
  
Derek never cashes the check. Meredith sticks it to the fridge though, securing it with a Dartmouth Big Green magnet. The check stays there until it ends up disappearing (perhaps on purpose?) during the packing process when Derek and Meredith finally relocate to the house Derek built for them.  
  
––––––  
  
The thump of little feet running down the hallway pulls Mark and Addison awake about a half hour before the alarm clock is set to go off (they quickly discovered that parenthood means never, never sleeping deeply again). At two years and five months of age, it really does not feel like Kate walks _anywhere_ , anymore. It is always running or jumping with her. All noise, all the time.  
  
Soon enough, Kate is peeping up at her father with sleepy eyes (still Mark’s color, but Addison’s shape and enviably long lashes). Kate smiles drowsily and holds her arms out. If she has a choice she’d prefer to cuddle with Mommy, but Daddy lifts her onto the bed quicker and does it in a more fun way, making her feel like a birdie in the sky.   
  
“Well, someone’s awake early. Hi, Kate,” Addison says, eyes still closed as she feels Kate crawl over to her. Luckily, on weekdays when their two year-old ends up waking earlier than they would prefer, she’s pretty good about lying back down with them (and if not, they grab a phone, open the Youtube app, and put on an episode of Doc McStuffins, giving their daughter screen time at six AM like the suckers they are). They cannot really blame her for joining them, given that the bedroom door hangs open like an invitation. They are freakishly good about closing and _locking_ the door during Adult Time when their daughter is asleep, but always open it all the way again once Adult Time is over.  
  
“Hi, Mommy. Mommy?” Kate runs a hand over her mother’s face, soft and gentle, just like Mommy does for her sometimes in order to wake her up. Addison is not naïve though, and quickly opens her eyes before Kate unapologetically tries to force one of her eyelids open. It has happened several times before. “Maggie,” Kate tells her.   
  
Addison notices that the much-loved stuffed elephant, who is anywhere Kate is when it is bedtime or first thing in the morning, is noticeably absent. “Is she still in your room, baby?”  
  
Kate nods. “I fo-got her.” The recent addition of _forgot_ into the vocabulary surprised Addison, but given how often she has to tell Mark he forgot something at the grocery store or forgot to do something (and she isn’t always nice when doing the telling), maybe this should not have surprised her so much.  
  
“Ask Daddy to go get her for you,” Addison smirks at Mark over her daughter’s tiny shoulder.   
  
“Do the legs attached to Daddy’s daughter no longer work?” Mark quips back sleepily as Kate scoots back to his side of the bed.  
  
“Daddy…” Kate curls her fingers around one of Mark’s wrists. “Get Maggie.”  
  
“What do you say first, Katiebee?” Mark prompts.  
  
“I love you.”  
  
Addison laughs while Mark taps Kate on the tip of her nose and tells her that he loves her too. “That’s so nice,” Addison says. “But what _else_ do you say?”  
  
“Thank you,” their daughter chirps.  
  
“You’re batting a thousand today, Kate,” Mark says with an amused grin.  
  
“The other word…pleeee…” Addison sounds out.  
  
“Please!”  
  
Mark tiredly makes his way out of bed (it is Addison’s morning to handle breakfast for Kate though, so payback will happen later with their suddenly-very-picky eater). He retrieves Maggie from Kate’s bed, and then returns to the master bedroom. He hands the stuffed elephant over to her happy owner. Kate tells him thank you and then closes her eyes and holds her head up dramatically, her way of requesting an Eskimo kiss. Mark gives her one, and then awkwardly exchanges one with Maggie’s trunk when Kate thrusts the elephant towards him next.  
  
Eskimo kisses are a new discovery for Kate, something she positively delights in, something that just makes Kate _Kate_ , along with many other things. She loves getting carried on her daddy’s shoulders (Mark has gotten used to sometimes having a dull ache in his upper back, but the alternative is that a brief walk to the playground turns into a half hour so Kate can inspect what feels like every flower and blade of grass along the way). Kate loves when Mommy and Daddy read books with her. She speaks as though every sentence ends with an exclamation point. She loves pink ice cream (more commonly known as strawberry). She will hold up her thumb and index finger to indicate that she is two if you ask her. Her R’s are pronounced as W’s, and both parents secretly hope she retains this for as long as possible. She squeals over the ducks in Central Park, and the Balto statue north of Tisch Children’s Zoo. She enjoys her weekly tumbling class, stacking blocks, bath time, playing in the laundry basket, and making animal sounds when her parents ask her what such-and-such says. She is, Mark and Addison feel, an absolutely enchanting little human.  
  
She is not a perfect child though, and they are very aware of that, some days more than others. Kate’s resistance and assertions in the name of toddler independence are exhausting and patience-testing on the best of days, and lock-yourself-in-the-bathroom on the worst (this does nothing; Kate will simply lie down and yell and wiggle her fingers underneath the door until the parent attempting to take a break has no choice but to abandon their sanctuary). Kate can be terrible at sharing. If she doesn’t like a food, she spits it out as dramatically as she can. She says “No” as often as she invades personal space, fills her pockets with sand and twigs from her favorite playground in Central Park West, and climbs on furniture (frequently). She will _only_ drink out of the Elsa cup, but somehow that is not always the right cup, which is very confusing for her parents. What Kate likes to eat one day is what she will hate to eat the next, and lately all she wants to eat is polka dot cheese (Swiss). No matter how consistent the bedtime routine is and no matter how hard they have tried to make the transition to a “big girl bed” exciting for her, bedtime is an absolute nightmare lately. There are tantrums now, too; Kate had a meltdown in public a few days ago that was so horrible Addison’s face turned roughly the same color as the lace push-up bra she was purchasing (and _because_ bedtime is a nightmare, she has not been able to show off this recent purchase to her husband). Kate’s pronunciation of “fork,” though funny in private, is a huge source of embarrassment when they are out at restaurants because somehow Kate _knows_ this, and will just say it louder. Sometimes she licks the inside of windows (it is weird and gross; they do not understand why she is like this). She has scribbled on the wall several times now, and Addison has become freakishly familiar with the names of Crayola crayons to the point that she eyeballed some scribbles on the kitchen wall last week and instantly knew it was the Jazzberry Jam crayon.   
  
But even with all the stuff that drives Mark and Addison crazy, their daughter makes life beautiful.   
  
“Go park?” Kate asks now, rolling back over to face her mother.  
  
“Mommy and Daddy have work today, sweet girl.” Addison tucks a few wisps of auburn hair back behind Kate’s ear. Her hair almost reaches her shoulders now, still baby-soft with loose curls that Addison suspects will disappear as Kate gets older. “But Lauren will take you to the park this morning, and then you’ll come have lunch with us at work. Then tomorrow is _Saturday_ , so we get to spend the whole day together.”  
  
“No babies?”   
  
“No babies,” Addison responds. Kate knows Mommy works with babies and helps make them all better. “Just the three of us. Do you want to go to Aunt Savvy and Uncle Weiss’s tomorrow, and play with Em and Drew?”  
  
Kate nods eagerly, her entire body wiggling in excitement as she pulls herself up to her knees. At first, she mostly just liked to _watch_ Emily and Andrew, but now she likes to sit near them as the three of them engage in side-by-side play (or engage in crying when Kate yanks toys directly from the twins’ unsuspecting hands).   
  
“Swim?”  
  
“Mm-hmm,” Addison says. The toddlers love the water table and inflatable kiddie pool that reside on the patch of grass in Weiss and Savvy’s small backyard. Addison sighs internally, realizing she made a rookie mistake by telling Kate about their plans more than twenty-four hours in advance. _Tomorrow_ is still a murky concept at this age.   
  
“Kate,” she adds. “Do you want to lie back down and cuddle with Mommy for a few minutes?”  
  
A Mark-like smirk tugs at the corners of Kate’s mouth. “ _No_.”  
  
“Too bad,” Addison pulls her daughter into her arms, tickling the little girl under her chin, inducing a round of flute-like giggles.  
  
––––––  
  
Addison ends up getting called to the hospital Saturday evening when one of her high-risk patients goes into labor. The emergency situation means there is no opportunity to FaceTime before bed, but Kate seems to take this in stride; she is agreeable to going through her bedtime routine without getting the chance to say good night to Mommy.   
  
Mark and Kate start with _Madeline’s Rescue_ , which Kate has wanted to read every single night for the past two months without fail. Mark did not care for it the first time, and definitely does not care for it now, but it is always fun to watch and listen to Kate’s reactions. She is unbothered by the eye-watering amount of yellow on each page, and always points out Madeline with each new page. She also loves pointing out the dog in this book (“gog”). She giggles at the name Lord Cucuface, and will turn towards whichever parent is reading to her to make sure they laugh too. She will say the word “sad” when they reach the page where the twelve little girls are crying about missing Genevieve, and will point out the tears on the faces of the characters.   
  
They always read one more book after the _Madeline_ one, and thankfully, Kate’s second book selections often vary, or at least cycle between a few different ones. Tonight, she brings _If Animals Said I Love You_ over to Mark, and they zip through the pages together, pausing of course for Kate to trumpet out the sound of each animal.   
  
“…then rumble with happiness loud and deep. Sure of their love, they’d snuggle and sleep.”  
  
Mark closes the book. Kate looks up at him, her eyes already filling with tears and her lower lip starting to tremble. She knows her bedtime routine perfectly; after the second book, they get out of the rocking chair and she gets tucked in because it’s time to go to sleep.   
  
Mark sighs, knowing if he does the basic comforting and then leaves, it will be a long night. They have been pretty persistent about returning Kate to her room when she crawls out of her toddler bed and comes to see them. They will tuck her back in, offer comfort and goodnight kisses, and then leave the room again (and then repeat this over and over).   
  
Consistency is key at this stage, but Mark also knows what it is like to have to fall asleep alone as a child. This is hardly the same situation, which he knows, but _still_. Addison might have had cliché, WASP-ish parents who were not particularly affectionate, but they were home at night, and if they were not, then her nanny was present. It was different for Mark. And he knows that it is hard to sleep when you do not feel safe in your own home.   
  
“You want me to stay with you?” Mark asks, and Kate offers a teary nod in response. “Okay, I will. You go get in bed while I do the lights.”  
  
“Daddy stay here?” Kate asks once Mark has dimmed her bedroom light and turned on the projector night light.   
  
“Yes,” Mark says, climbing in next to her, coordination less than notable as he navigates his way around the bed rail. “Daddy’s staying.”  
  
Kate smiles at this reassurance. She then points towards the light-up galaxy now shining on her ceiling. Mark makes a noise to indicate he sees it too, and then Kate moves her finger around, pointing out individual shapes.   
  
“Moon. Star. Star. Star. Sta-”  
  
“Katiebee, it’s night-night time, remember?” He interjects. “The moon and stars are going to sleep now, too.”  
  
“And Mouse,” she mumbles tiredly, rotating onto her side and cuddling against him. Mark considers for a moment, and thinks the mouse is something she is remembering from _Goodnight Moon_.   
  
“Yes,” he confirms, securing an arm around her. “It’s night-night time for Mouse, too. And Daddy and Kate.”   
  
––––––  
  
“She’s in our bed,” Mark steps outside the bedroom, chancing another glance back at their sleeping daughter before directing his attention to his wife, who has just arrived home.   
  
Addison frowns in mild disapproval. “You gave in?”  
  
“I stayed with her until she fell asleep, but about an hour later she started crying for me. Screaming, actually.” Mark winces, playing the scene back in his head. A sharp, reedy scream had exploded though the air when he was starting to doze off on the couch, instantly jolting him awake and sending him running to Kate’s room. She was wailing out for Daddy by the time he reached her. It always surprises him, how hot a child’s distressed tears feel against your skin. Kate has screamed and cried plenty of times during tantrums, so _that’s_ not exactly a surprise, but before tonight he has never heard her scream out of fear.   
  
“It wasn’t sleep regression-related,” he continues. “Kate had a nightmare. She was trying to tell me about it, but it wasn’t making much sense. Something about getting lost. I told her it was just a ‘pretend’ thing happening in her sleep, but she was really upset, so I brought her into our room and just held her until she fell back to sleep.”  
  
“Oh,” Addison says delicately. “Poor baby.”   
  
“Yeah,” Mark replies. A protective edge clips in his voice. “She’s not going back to her own bed tonight. She’s just _not_ , okay?”  
  
Addison’s eyes widen in surprise. “I wasn’t going to insist you put her back in her room. I’m not a monster, Mark.” She bites her tongue before she says anything else. She tells herself to be a grownup and not feel hurt by this remark, because it is clear that this is affecting Mark and he is not _trying_ to be rude or difficult.   
  
“I know. Sorry. I shouldn’t have snapped. I didn’t mean…” his mouth briefly pulls into a thin line. “I know I cave too easily on the bedtime stuff, but this wasn’t…like I said, it wasn’t a tantrum or her waking up and being pouty. It was a dream-bad.”  
  
Her head tilts in puzzlement. “A…dream-bad?”  
  
“That’s apparently what she now calls nightmares, or bad dreams: dream-bads,” Mark clarifies. He is not entirely sure why, but the logic makes sense to his daughter, even though a year from now, Kate will not really remember using this term. At present though, she thinks of scary dreams as dream-bads because Daddy and Mommy always tell her “sweet dreams” or “have a good sleep” before bed, but dreams about monsters or getting lost in the cursed forest far away from Arendelle are _not_ sweet or good.  
  
“Oh. That’s a new one.”  
  
“Yeah. And it’s really scary to be a little kid and wake up alone. I mean, I was _here_ , obviously, but it’s still…it’s not great.”  
  
“I understand. How about you get back in bed? I’m going to get changed and wash up. Then I’ll join you guys.”  
  
Addison rushes through washing her face and brushing her teeth, and cuts a few corners with her “before bed maintenance,” wanting nothing more than to be with her husband and daughter. Especially her husband at the moment.   
  
She slides in next to Mark. Kate is in the middle (sleeping peacefully with Maggie tucked under one arm), but luckily (or perhaps intentionally) there is enough space left over for Addison to lie beside her husband. She settles herself on his chest, and his arms immediately close around her.   
  
“You must have been so scared when Kate screamed, not knowing why,” she begins softly. “I know I would have been.”  
  
“Yeah,” Mark replies thickly. “I was.” Addison’s hand folds around one of his shoulders, the gesture both comforting and affirming.   
  
“You’re a really great father, Mark. The home we’re raising Kate in…it’s nothing like the one you grew up in. And you’re nothing like your parents. I know Kate was upset when she woke up, but she called out ‘Daddy’ for a reason. She knows you always keep her safe. That’s so important.” She feels the slight movement of her husband’s chest as he nods. “You gonna be okay, honey?”  
  
“Yeah, I am. How’s your patient, by the way?”  
  
“Good. Nearly lost her on the table, but she’s stable and will be fine. And the baby is healthy. Rough night, but yours was a bit rougher. Tell me something good about bedtime though. It’s never all bad with her.”   
  
Mark grins, instantly knowing what his answer is. “When I was lying in bed with her, Kate started pointing out the moon and individual stars, and was saying ‘star’ for each one she was focusing on. Honest to God, I think she was going to name every damn thing on the ceiling.”  
  
“That’s so cute.” Addison’s giggle is interrupted by a yawn. “I might fall asleep here, if that’s okay.”  
  
Mark hugs her a little tighter to him. “This is perfect,” he says quietly.   
  
––––––  
  
Muted groans and gasps hurtle throughout their bedroom as their hips move in tandem, rolling against one another. The kisses they have been exchanging are starting to become more hurried and wet as waves of pleasure bring them both closer to erupting. They’ve been drawing it out tonight, taking their time exploring and enjoying one another in a variety of ways, but neither is going to be able to hold out much longer, especially not when Addison locks her legs tighter around his waist. The change in positioning draws Mark deeper inside her, and she releases a passionate moan when his body rubs harder exactly where she needs it to.  
  
“I love you,” she whispers breathily as Mark speeds up his thrusts above her. Almost immediately, the warmth pulsing between her legs and starting to spread everywhere else begins to intensify. “Oh…oh God…oh…” her head tilts back when it’s all too much. “Mmm.”  
  
“I love you… _fuck_ , Addison.” Mark buries his face in the nape of her neck and collapses on top of her as her orgasm triggers the start of his. The tightness in his stomach releases, and he lies still afterwards, listening to her tiny residual pants and enjoying the feeling of her muscles continue to tense lightly around him for a few more seconds. “Fuck…” he murmurs again, voice gravelly and breathless.  
  
“Mmm…” she manages in a satisfied purr when trembles are no longer working their way through her limbs. Addison brushes her jaw against his. “It’s always so endearing when you say _that_ immediately after telling me you love me.”  
  
“I can’t always help what I say,” he cups her cheek with a roguish grin, and props back up on his elbows to take some of his weight off her. “Not when you clench your muscles around me and start moaning like that.”  
  
A slightly reserved smile cruises across Addison’s face at this remark. She untangles her legs from around her husband’s hips when she feels him soften inside her. A satisfying ache moves through her legs as she straightens them out, stretching her muscles, and she quickly gives Mark’s shoulder a squeeze to hold him against her.   
  
“Stay for a sec. You feel so good inside me,” she whispers, running her fingers along the muscles of his back. It’s far from the first time she’s wanted and requested this, so no Connecticut-esque blush drifts across her cheeks anymore. She loves the act of sex itself, the times after sex when Mark manages to keep things going for her, and cuddling with him, of course, but there’s something about this specific act that she loves too, something that made her cringe in discomfort with any man before Mark. There’s a unique intimacy to this, an emotional closeness and peacefulness in not separating right away. He’s good about not putting all his weight on top of her, but she thinks it still feels nice to feel a little pressure against her chest and stomach.  
  
“Like I would want to go anywhere else right now when you tell me things like that,” Mark says, dropping light kisses on her neck. He understands why Addison likes this though, because he definitely likes it for the same reasons. He caresses her cheek and the sweaty tendrils of hair sticking to her temples as they wait for their pulses to stop racing. He loses track of time as they look at one another and exchange lazy, lust-filled kisses, but eventually Addison wiggles her hips and arches her back, her unspoken request to move again.   
  
Mark starts to roll off her, but captures her lips for one more searing kiss first. She wiggles her hips again, this time a bit differently, and he feels himself responding again. Addison graces him with a wicked smile and raises an eyebrow. Mark mirrors the look on her face and flips them over, giving her an opportunity to slide up and down his thighs, and giving Mark a chance to play with her breasts (he loved the red bra, but he loves her even more like this). The feel of his mouth, tongue, palms, and fingers over her nipples and the swell of her breasts never fails to quickly speed up Addison’s breathing and build the fiery tension inside her.   
  
She doesn’t last long this time, and neither does he.  
  
––––––  
  
“What?” Mark asks later when they’ve cleaned up, gotten ready for bed, changed the sheets, reopened the bedroom door for the little redhead one room over, and crawled back into bed. He reaches out to touch his wife’s elbow. Addison is staring at him, in that funny, intense way she sometimes does when she wants to share something, but is trying to determine how to bring it up.  
  
“I’ve been thinking lately about having my IUD taken out,” she says, because there really isn’t any other way she can think of to address the subject, and it’s not like she’s expecting a protest about it from him. “What do you think?”  
  
“So we can have another one?” He grins predictably. “I’d love that, Red.”  
  
“Well…” Addison holds a palm up as a warning before he can jump too far ahead. “Realistically, it probably won’t happen, so I don’t really want to frame it as ‘trying.’”  
  
“So more like a not trying thing then? And just seeing what happens?”  
  
“Right. Also, don’t interpret this as a ‘we are now going to have sex morning, noon, and night to maximize the odds of conceiving’ thing.”  
  
Mark smirks at her. “If you’re trying to imply something about _my_ lack of self-restraint, I’ll have you know that you were the one who jumped me tonight. And technically the second time was your fault as well – ‘fault’ in a good way, of course.”  
  
“Yeah, you’ve got me there,” she admits with a soft giggle. “Anyway. Yes, there’s a _chance_ I could still get pregnant at my age, but the odds are pretty low. And I don’t really want to see a fertility specialist because I just figure if it’s going to happen, it’s going to happen. And if it doesn’t happen, well…”  
  
He finishes her thought. “The kid we have is pretty awesome.”  
  
“She is. And I just figure if Kate’s the only one, then she’s the one for us. I know my heart would like, expand or whatever if we were to have another baby, but…” Addison offers a small shrug. Her heart already feels warmer at the mention of her daughter. “It’s kinda hard to imagine loving another kid as much as I love her. Even on the days when she’s a little butthead.”   
  
“Pretty much every day this week, for instance.”  
  
“Right. But I just want to make sure…I don’t want you to get your hopes up or anything.”  
  
“I won’t. If we don’t have a second Pickle or a Mark Junior -”  
  
“First of all, _one_ Mark is plenty,” she interrupts. “I swear to God my IUD just clamped itself in place upon hearing ‘Mark Junior.’”  
  
He chuckles. “I knew you’d say something like that. But what I’m saying is that even if we don’t have another baby, what we have right now is enough. But, Addison…if we _don’t_ have another one by the time Kate is a certain age, does that mean we can get a dog?”  
  
“Oh, God. I don’t know. I guess, provided we’re living in a house by then. And provided you’re on poop duty.”   
  
“Kate _wants_ a dog, you know.”  
  
“Yeah, well,” she rolls her eyes. “Kate also only wanted to eat ‘brown’ ice cream today, wants to wear my long necklaces to bed, and wants to make fairies come into our apartment to play with her by coloring a hole in the wall in either Mountain Meadow or Tickle Me Pink -”  
  
“I’d like to tickle _your_ -”  
  
“You. Are. A. Pig.”  
  
He copies her sentence punctuations. “Not. New. Information.”  
  
“Well, anyway. _One_ of us has to try not to spoil her, Mark, and you are very much not succeeding at that.”  
  
“True,” Mark laughs, kissing the top of her head. He feels her start to grow tired in his embrace. “Love you, Addison. Sweet dreams and no dream-bads.”  
  
“I love you too, idiot. Sweet dreams and no dream-bads.”  
  
\------


	37. We Can Make it So Divine

**Chapter 37. We Can Make it So Divine**  
  
“Perfect day,” Mark says while reaching for the loaf of bread. This is their last vacation of the summer. They are just a few days away from preschool starting for Kate. Currently, he and Addison are on lunch duty, while Savvy and Weiss are outside with the three kids (lunch is the easier task). Two kids, actually. His eyes narrow until he follows the direction Savvy is looking in to reveal Emily carefully working her way up the sand-dusted steps dividing the beach from their property. “We have one incoming, by the way.”  
  
“Which?” Addison asks while closing the refrigerator door, jar of strawberry jelly in hand.  
  
“The nice one. The one who thinks I’m funny.”  
  
“Aunt Addie? Kate says no peanut butter. Just jelly,” Emily announces as she comes in through the back door, grains of white sand falling off behind her.   
  
Addison frowns (and not just because of the _ew_ factor). “Em, did she tell you to come in here just to tell me that?” Her daughter is a good friend to the twins, but Kate _can_ be bossy at times.   
  
“No,” Emily says, her dark, wet-from-the-ocean ringlets bouncing as she shakes her head. “I told Mommy and Daddy I had to go potty and _then_ Kate told me to tell you.”   
  
“Okay. Do you need any help?”  
  
“ _No_ ,” Emily responds quickly. She looks equal parts horrified and annoyed at being asked such a question.  
  
Addison shakes her head with a smile once the little girl is out of the kitchen. “She said that with a lot of snark. My goddaughter with her little angel-ish sounding voice is spending too much time with Kate, I think.”  
  
“Well damn, honey. That kid ended up being ready to be potty trained at a freakishly early age. You embarrassed her.”  
  
“I was asking more because of the bathing suit issue. You have _no_ idea what a challenge it is to have to use the bathroom when you’re a girl wearing a wet one piece.”  
  
“Well, _you_ could just wear a bikini,” Mark murmurs with a grin, resting a hand on her hip. “Not that I don’t like the swimsuits you’ve been wearing, but…”  
  
“Any opportunity for more skin with you. Anyway, focus on cutting up that fruit. And, you know,” Addison grins in contemplation. “I had a jelly sandwich a few times when I was pregnant with Kate. I wonder if there’s some sort of connection there.”  
  
“Maybe. She _does_ really like pickles, so it seems like there’s a connection there too. Hey, Addison…” Mark stares out the kitchen window and watches the scene playing out in the distance. The sandcastle the kids were working on seems to be finished now. “Why are Kate and Andrew holding hands?”  
  
“Oh.” Addison tries not to smirk when she sees the expression on his face grow deadly serious, because of course he would be _that_ dad. “I think it’s because they like each other, Mark,” she answers as calmly as she can. “Like-like. It happens. I’m sure _you_ came out of the _womb_ trying to hold hands with girls.”  
  
“Emily. Come here for a sec…” Mark says when his goddaughter skitters back into the room. Emily breaks into a huge smile when he beckons her over. Unlike Emily’s mother, the little girl loves her Uncle Mark and his silly jokes, and doesn’t find anything about him to be particularly annoying or dumb or weird.  
  
Mark crouches down to her level. “How come Andrew and Kate are holding hands, kiddo?”  
  
“They love each other.”  
  
“They love each other,” Mark repeats, caught off-guard by how casual Emily’s tone is while sharing this. “What does ‘love’ mean?”  
  
“Um…” Emily begins. Her lips pucker and twitch to the side as she tries to determine what exactly her godfather is asking. “Um…hugs? And a pink heart?”  
  
“Emmy, why don’t you go ahead back outside and play. About five more minutes and lunch will be ready.” Addison tips her head towards the door, and Emily happily runs off. “Anyway…”  
  
“Um, no. Not _anyway_.”  
  
“Oh, come on, Mark,” she laughs. “I think it’s sweet that they love each other. No hugs and pink hearts though – they just hold hands sometimes. Lots of kids their age have crushes. It’s a normal part of development.”  
  
“Well, I don’t like it.”  
  
“He found out about the hand-holding, didn’t he?” Savvy grins when she enters through the back door unexpectedly, having passed her daughter on the way back to the beach. “Weiss is still with them and he’s no longer being buried in the sand by the kids, so he’s available should anyone make a break for it. I’m just grabbing more sunscreen. Mainly for the little redhead out there. Those shoulders are getting a bit pink.”  
  
“Yes, Savannah. I found out,” Mark confirms while Addison smiles gratefully at her friend for watching out for her fair-skinned daughter. “And like I told my wife: I don’t like it.”  
  
“I figured that would be the case,” Savvy replies easily. “But just so you know, Andrew knows he has to _ask_ Kate if she wants to hold hands – we were very clear about that. Boys will be good, respectful humans, _not_ boys will be boys.”  
  
“Well, that’s nice,” Mark admits, but his tone is still a little grouchy.  
  
“And if it makes you feel better, sometimes Kate tells him no. Unlike _my_ kids, yours seems to understand that it’s important to have a backup hand at the ready while eating an ice cream cone.”  
  
Mark manages a smile. “I’m not gonna survive the teen years, am I?”  
  
“No,” both women answer.   
  
\------  
  
Addison observes her daughter slowly look around the preschool classroom. Kate has been in the classroom before and she met some of the teachers during a tour last spring. Her daughter is most excited about the pretend/dramatic play center because of the fancy purple curtains masking a small stage, and all the costume dress-up options, but she is definitely looking forward to the block center, reading corner, and art canvases, too. And Kate really likes Miss Kelly, who just bent down to give her a high-five when she walked through the classroom door, with Mommy and Daddy close behind her.   
  
This is the first time Kate is looking around the room with _other_ kids in it though. Kids she has not met yet. And this is the first time Mark and Addison won’t be staying with her. Addison knows her daughter though: she is friendly, curious, and bright. Kate is definitely a bit nervous today, but if Addison had to choose between the two, she would say her daughter is more outgoing than she is shy. And as much as it pains Addison to admit it, her daughter is ready for her first year of preschool. In a way, it is a privilege to get to share her with others. And at the moment, Kate is actually more excited for _next_ year at Building Blocks Learning Center, because then she will be in the Mini Teddy Bears class, which is what the second-years are called. The kids who will not be four until next year are known as the Little Bunnies, and Kate likes the teddy bear name a lot better.   
  
Kate told Mommy this morning that she feels like she has butterflies living in her tummy, and Mommy said that’s okay; everyone gets a little nervous on their first day of school. And right now, Kate is glad her parents are here. Mommy also said that normally Lauren will pick her up from preschool, but today Mommy and Daddy took the day off work, so they will be here to pick her up. (She knows this will be when both arrows are on the twelve; Kate can’t tell time, but she knows her numbers, and Daddy said that when both arrows are pointing straight up on number twelve, that’s when school is over.)  
  
“Are Emily and Drew here?” Kate asks quietly. Something to the left catches her eye though, and the nervous butterflies become happy butterflies for a moment. “Mommy, look! This says ‘Kate!’ That’s me.”  
  
Addison smiles and crouches down by the cubby Kate has pointed out. “You’re right. It says ‘Kate Sloan.’ This is a cubby. You can put you backpack in here,” she says, and Mark helps Kate guide her mini Paw Patrol backpack off her shoulders.   
  
“Hey strangers. You just missed Weiss. He had an eight-thirty meeting,” Savvy says as she approaches from the other side of the classroom. She kneels down to wrap her goddaughter in a quick hug. “You’re going to have such a _fun_ time this morning. Emily and Drew are already playing at one of the tables.”  
  
Kate nods, but looks up at her parents, unsure.   
  
Addison offers her a wide smile. “See? Em and Drew are already here. There’s so many fun things you can do right now, Kate. Remember Miss Kelly said it’s free choice time for a bit?” Addison gestures past the weather chart and daily schedule chart to the various learning centers strewn throughout the room. “Look. There’s blocks over there, a coloring table, and it looks like some of your new friends are making macaroni necklaces. The twins are by the sensory tables – remember you saw them last time you were here? They have all sorts of cool things in them. And -”  
  
“Ad,” Mark whispers, giving her shoulder a _you-need-to-stop_ squeeze. Addison halts her rambling. Kate is only half-listening to her anyway.  
  
“Kate?” She says again, this time with words that are slower and more reassuring. She bends down to speak closer to her daughter’s ear. “How about you go say hi to Emily and Drew. Daddy and I will stay right here. We won’t go anywhere yet. Kind of like when you’re at the playground and sometimes we sit on the bench and watch you.”  
  
Kate offers another nod and releases the hand she still has wrapped around her dad’s. This makes sense to her.   
  
“How are yours doing?” Addison asks Savvy once Kate has walked across the classroom to join Emily and Drew. Kate looks back once on the walk over, and glances up a few times from the water beads she’s playing with to make eye contact with her parents, but she seems a bit more relaxed. Addison feels the tightness in her stomach release. The butterflies Kate told Addison she was feeling – Addison was feeling them too. But she knows now without a shadow of a doubt that in a few minutes when she and Mark go over to Kate and tell her goodbye and give her hugs, that she will be just fine. She will thrive here.  
  
“Better than I expected,” Savvy answers. “A few nervous tears from Em, and Andrew briefly had the deer in the headlights look when we walked in, but they’re settling in. Helps that there are so many things here to keep them occupied.”   
  
“That’s true. Look how cute that is.” Addison points to a colorful bulletin board with rainbows and puffy cloud cutouts. “This year is a rainbow of possibilities,” she reads aloud.   
  
“So cheesy,” Mark smirks. He offers Kate a little wave when she looks over at him. “I kind of love it.”  
  
Savvy shakes her head. “This is going to be your _dream_ , Mark. There are so many stupid puns in this room. It’s like word play threw up in here. There’s a poster over there that says, ‘We all fit together in this class,’ with interlocking puzzle pieces with their names on them. And then the bulletin board by the reading corner has a bunch of bumblebee stickers and says, ‘We all belong here,’ but with an extra ‘e.’ You should ask if they have a suggestion box so you can start making contributions. Some of these leave room for improvement. For the price we’re paying for a private preschool, I’d expect better puns…”  
  
Addison throws Savvy a chiding look. “Man, someone’s being a little harsh.”   
  
“Believe me, I know. I’ll be fine, but for the time being, harshness is my defense mechanism because I’m having some feelings about leaving my babies here.”   
  
Mark takes the bait. “You’re not being harsh. More like…snob- _bee_.”  
  
“There it is. And hey, we all have to cope somehow. Addison has green juice to put on top of things when she’s feeling some feelings – I just become…snob-bee.”  
  
Addison presses her lips together to hide her smile. Savvy doesn’t call her out, the Connecticut thing, but she suspects her best friend knows green juice isn’t always the answer when Addison wants to feel better.  
  
And when she and Mark are home in between preschool drop-off and pick-up, she _does_ in fact end up having a refreshing glass of green juice to pour on top of her feelings.   
  
She has it after she has Mark on top of her.   
  
\------  
  
A text message from Meredith pops up on Addison’s phone in mid-September (to the surprise of Derek and Mark, the women do keep in touch, primarily because Kate loves Meredith and always wants to FaceTime with her).   
  
_Hey,_ Meredith says _. Sending this with Derek. We wanted to let you know we’re engaged. I’m not sure if there’s a better/less awkward way to tell you, but sometimes your kid will take your phone and FaceTime me, and I feel like even if I were trying to be discreet she’d notice if I was wearing a new ring._  
  
Addison laughs as she types out her reply. _She would 100% notice and would pester you until you told her the truth. But more importantly, CONGRATS._  
  
And then Addison calls, figuring it’s just easier. She wonders how Derek felt when he found out she was getting married. It’s a weird feeling, but not _entirely_ weird. She likes Derek (loved him once, and still loves him in a way that indicates she maintains a certain _fondness_ for him) and she likes Meredith, too. And she wants them both to be happy.   
  
“You’re getting married!” She chirps when Meredith answers.  
  
“Yeah, we’re doing the whole getting married thing or whatever.”  
  
Derek chuckles. “She sounds thrilled, doesn’t she? City Hall. And then a small party-reception thing at Joe’s Bar. We’ll just text you when we figure out the date. Probably early November. No pressure though, if you guys aren’t able to make it or feel like it might be too weird.”  
  
“You’re inviting us?” Addison asks softly.  
  
“Yes. You, Mark, Little Red. Even though my invitation to _your_ second wedding got lost in the mail or something.”  
  
Addison laughs. “It would have been too awkward and you know it. This is slightly less awkward, somehow. I’d love to be there though, and I’d love to once again have my underage kid in that bar. Oh, speaking of – she and Mark are just getting in from soccer practice, which is pretty much the cutest thing in the world. It’s just a pack of kids who can’t follow basic instructions so bunched together you can’t even see the ball. Can I put you on FaceTime for a sec? I’m sure Mark and Kate would love to hear the good news.”   
  
Mark is also thrilled for the couple, but both parents are surprised when they end the call and notice the upset expression on their daughter’s face. Kate tearily asks how she can be a flower girl if they aren’t having a wedding with guests, just a party _after_ the wedding. This catches Addison by surprise; at no point had anyone ever discussed Kate being a flower girl, but apparently she got it in her head that she would be. Addison didn’t even know her three year-old knew what a flower girl _was_. She eventually texts Meredith to warn her about the direction this conversation went post-call, just in case Kate steals her phone in the future and attempts to FaceTime her favorite Seattle person. Since the ripe age of two, Kate has become an expert in navigating the various apps on an iPhone.  
  
 _Check your mail today,_ Meredith tells Addison two weeks later. She does, and finds a tiny package addressed to her daughter.  
  
Kate opens it to find a silver necklace with a letter “K” dangling off it. There is also a note, which Addison reads aloud for Kate, tracing her finger over the words so her daughter can follow along. In big block letters it says, “Cause baby now we’ve got a flower girl,” and then there is fancy, swirly writing underneath. Kate squeals in delight when she realizes Meredith and Derek are inviting her to be a flower girl at their reception at Emerald City Bar. Addison tells her that Meredith and Derek are still getting married with no one else there, but Kate will get to wear a fancy dress (whatever she wants, according to the note) and throw rose petals at the party.   
  
_Thank you,_ Addison texts Meredith _. It’s incredibly thoughtful of you guys to find a way to include a little redhead who was arrogant enough to just automatically assume she would be part of your big day. She’s been grinning ear-to-ear all evening. And I had to give her a little hint, but she got the music reference. Very clever!_  
  
 _Thanks,_ Meredith texts back _. It felt nicer than telling her that she needed to calm down. ;)_  
  
On the first Saturday in November, Derek and Meredith have their guests arrive before them at their reception-party at Emerald City Bar. Then they have their little “loophole” bridal party (something they never intended to have) enter the bar, and follow in behind them. Kate and Emily scatter flowers on the floor, and Andrew and Tuck Bailey-Jones toss more masculine peanut shells from their wicker baskets.   
  
Mark crushes peanut shells in his fist later that night when he sees Andrew and Kate holding hands again.   
  
\------  
  
Kate does well in her first year of preschool. This does not surprise Mark and Addison. She is a smart, cheerful girl who is a quick learner. But when they take a slew of pictures with their daughter following her graduation from the Little Bunnies class, no one notices until later that Kate was holding her first-year diploma upside down in all the photos.  
  
They do some right side-up pictures the following year, but manage to coax Kate into recreating last year’s picture when she graduates with the rest of the second-year Mini Teddy Bears. Kate _knows_ if she flips the paper over her name will be upside down though, and this vaguely embarrasses her because she doesn’t like to be wrong (she gets this from her mother), so when gentle pleas do not work, Mark and Addison bribe her with a trip to a local Splash Pad.  
  
“What a great kid we made,” Mark murmurs as their daughter gleefully runs around testing out the various water features at the Chelsea Waterside Playground, striking the ground in purple water shoes they suspect they’ll need to replace with a bigger pair by the time summer is over and Kindergarten begins. Mark and Addison are standing close by, keeping a close eye on their five-year-old, but are grateful they have reached a stage where their hands do not have to be hovering by Kate every second.  
  
“Yeah. She is a great kid. She’ll be a great big sister, too.”  
  
Mark turns towards her, a surprised smile teasing his lips up. “Wait. Addie, really?”  
  
“Really, Mark. I’m just _barely_ five weeks, so it’s _very_ early still, but…I have a good feeling about this one. So…what you think?”  
  
“I can’t wait,” he replies softly, wrapping an arm over her shoulders. They stand peacefully like this for a few minutes, imagining everything the future holds for them in the next year.  
  
“Hey…” she says later, nodding in Kate’s direction. “We’re gonna make her recreate that picture _every_ time she receives a diploma, right?”  
  
“Hell yeah we are.”  
  
They suspect getting Kate to take a kindergarten graduation picture with an upside down diploma will involve some bribery as well. They are correct. But by the time Kate’s graduations from eighth grade, high school, and college come around, their daughter is more than game to flip the diploma upside down with an eye-roll and an amused laugh.  
  
And years later, a picture of Kate holding her very first diploma in between her beaming parents is one of the pictures on display at the entrance table at the venue for her wedding reception. No peanut shells in sight though.   
  
\------


	38. Such Great Heights

**Chapter 38. Such Great Heights**  
  
This pregnancy is different for Addison. _Not a “bad” different_ , she thinks. _Just different._ The nausea is not as rough this time, and it feels less frequent, which has been nice. The exhaustion is worse though, courtesy of already having a child outside the womb (a lovely child, but a child who saps all her energy and most of her patience all the same).  
  
“Hey,” Addison murmurs sleepily, rousing when she feels one of Mark’s hands lightly stroking her stomach. She would normally want to strangle him for waking her up on a Sunday, but instead she cups her hand over his. She likes this. Weekday mornings are insane, work keeps her busy, and chasing after Kate in the evening keeps her even busier. Addison can barely keep her eyes open lately once she gets into bed, so she is more appreciative than ever for weekends because she feels less loopy and stretched-too-thin when she talks to their baby and rubs her stomach.  
  
“Hey,” Mark responds. “Sorry. I didn’t want to wake you, but it’s almost seven-thirty and our kid, well…” he brushes her shoulder with his lips. “She’s pretty much an alarm clock these days.” Kate usually does not sleep in much later than seven-thirty, and Mark figures that his wife waking up gradually from his touch is infinitely better than their extremely loud child barreling into the room and jumping on the bed (Addison might be less prone to vomiting this go-around, but that does not help).   
  
“That’s very true. But hey, let’s tell Kate about the baby when she comes in here.”  
  
“Really?” He asks. Addison is almost ten weeks now, and has been insistent about waiting until she hits the second trimester to tell their daughter, or anyone for that matter other than Savvy, who figured it out right away (Mark thinks sometimes that his wife and her best friend share a brain). It is hard for Mark to assess whether Addison is more emotional with this pregnancy or if he just cannot remember as vividly some of her more stand-out moodier moments from the first pregnancy. Mark just knows that in the past week she has quietly wept over many things, including: the only flavor of ice cream they currently have isn’t the one she wants; there will never be world peace; a button fell off her Carolina Herrera top (never mind that Mark sewed it back on right away); their sheets feel weird on her skin; and they need to get serious about buying a house, because where else will they _fit_ the baby (Mark regrets saying _in the microwave_ , because non-hormonal Addison finds his jokes annoying most days, and hormonal Addison finds them annoying all the days).  
  
“Yeah,” she says with a smile, answering Mark’s question. “It’s time.”  
  
“And after we tell her, do you want me to take her to the park for a bit so we can both get out of your hair?”  
  
She gives him a sleepy, but grateful look. “I would absolutely love that.”  
  
\------   
  
“Do you know what this is a picture of, sweetie?” Addison asks, holding out her most recent ultrasound photo. She knows Kate won’t know, of course, but she’s still curious to see what her daughter will say, and it seems as good a way as any to share the news.  
  
Kate squints, looking at the photo closely. “A tornado?” She looks at her mommy, and then her daddy. She is sitting between them on their bed, and is quite confused about why a black and gray blob – a tornado like in the _Wizard of Oz_ , maybe – is supposed to be “something exciting” they want to tell her.  
  
“No,” Addison grins. “But you’re right; it does kind of look like a tornado. This is actually a picture of the inside of my tummy. And right there,” she points a long finger towards something in the center of the non-tornado. “That’s a baby growing in my tummy. You’re going to be a big sister, Kate.”  
  
“I am?” Kate’s mouth curves into a wide smile. She has always wanted a sibling, but Mommy and Daddy have told her that they will just have to “wait and see,” which she has never quite understood. “There’s a _baby_ in your tummy right now? But it doesn’t…this doesn’t _look_ like a baby, Mommy.”  
  
Mark laughs. “Not yet. Your little brother or sister is still growing, and right now he or she is really small – only the size of a strawberry.”   
  
“That _is_ small,” Kate says, moving her thumb and index finger apart to measure out an invisible strawberry. “Is the baby a baby brother or a baby sister?”   
  
“It’s too soon to tell. We’ll find out in September,” Addison answers. “In the meantime we’ve been calling the baby Sprout as a nickname.”  
  
“That’s a stupid name.”  
  
“Kate.” Addison stretches her daughter’s name out and quirks an eyebrow, even though she doesn’t disagree in the slightest. Mark came up with the nickname several weeks ago, and although it has grown on her, there is no denying it is just as weird as calling their firstborn a pickle was. “What did we tell you about saying that word?”  
  
“That I am not supposed to say it,” Kate replies softly. “Sorry.”  
  
“That’s okay.” Addison gives her a reassuring smile. “Thank you for apologizing. Next time maybe you can say it’s a silly name.”   
  
“Okay…but Mommy? I heard you call Daddy that word yesterday.”  
  
 _More than once_ , both parents think.   
  
“You’re absolutely right, Kate. I shouldn’t have done that. I’ll try harder not to say that word too.”  
  
Mark meets his wife’s eyes and fights back a smirk. _No, you won’t._  
  
“Hey, Kate,” Addison continues, tapping her daughter’s shoulder. “You know what we called you before you were born?”  
  
“Katherine?”   
  
“Nope. You had a silly nickname too.” Addison glances at her silly-stupid husband, encouraging him to supply the answer.   
  
Mark grins. “We called you ‘Pickle,’ buddy.”  
  
“That is a silly name,” Kate giggles. “But I _do_ like pickles. I don’t think Baby Sprout will like sprouts though. Those are yucky.”  
  
“You sure?” Mark jokes. “I bet Mommy can make you a really good green smoothie with some sprouts in it.”  
  
“Daddy, _no_.”  
  
\------  
  
“Freaky coincidence, right?” Addison asks around the twelve-week mark when she relays the subject of her recent phone call with Richard Webber to her husband. “Not even just that he’s asking for a consult while I’m pregnant…it’s the same _procedure_ as last time, too. We might never get world peace, but it sure is a weird world.”  
  
“Very freaky,” he laughs. “But at least enough time and things have happened since that first time that it’s not like walking into an emotional minefield of stress. Are you thinking of going?”  
  
Addison nods. “Yeah, if you’re okay with flying solo for a few days with Kate. It would probably be easier to go alone, and I don’t expect to be there long. The timing is less than ideal since Lauren is in Michigan visiting with family for another week, but hospital daycare seems to be working out fine so far, and you can always utilize Savvy and Weiss if you need a breather. I was also thinking, that while I’m there…” she grins slowly. “Sprout is going to need godparents. I know it might be an odd thing to ask of an ex-husband, but -”   
  
“I was thinking Derek and Meredith too,” Mark admits. “They like our first-born, so I’m sure they’ll like the second, too. And you know they’ll say yes. So…what obnoxious Taylor Swift-way are you going to use to ask them?”  
  
“I haven’t thought that far ahead yet.”  
  
\------  
  
“But Mommy…” Kate says, trying her best not to whine while helping her mother pack her suitcase. It is hard though. She has asked several times now, but Mommy said that she is only going to Seattle for work and will be too busy to watch Kate, so she cannot bring her. Even _Daddy_ said that Kate cannot go, and he pretty much _never_ says no. “Bella-view has a daycare. Doesn’t the hospital where Mer and Derek work have one too?”  
  
“No, it doesn’t,” Addison replies, because sometimes lying is easier. “Do you want to help me with something else? I need a pair of dark blue shoes to go with the color blue in this shirt.” She holds it out for Kate to see. “How about you grab a pair for me.”  
  
“Do you want pumps or do you want open toe ones?”  
  
“How does she know that?” Mark asks quietly when Addison tells her daughter to surprise her, and Kate wanders to the other side of the master bedroom in search of the perfect shoes to complement her mother’s outfit.  
  
Addison laughs. “She’s my daughter. She’s like a mini-Addison that way.”  
  
“It probably also feels like she’s a mini-Addison when she tries to incorporate some pretty sound logic into her argument for why you should take her with you to Seattle.”  
  
“Yeah. It really is like debating a younger version of myself. Or _parenting_ a younger version of myself. I know it should just be flattering, but sometimes –”  
  
“It’s annoying as hell?” Mark interrupts with a smile, being sure to keep his voice low.  
  
“It’s annoying as hell.”  
  
\------   
  
Mark walks Addison to the front door, wheeling her suitcase for her even though she has stubbornly insisted she can do it, and what really is the _point_ of him just pulling it across the living room since she will be carting it out the door and down to the apartment lobby by herself, anyway.  
  
“ _Chivalry_ is the point, honey,” Mark says with a grin. Her cab should be arriving any minute. With a kid, it’s just so much easier to exchange goodbyes here. He thinks back to the last time they were in this situation though, when she was newly pregnant with Kate and married and things were so, so tender and nerve-wracking. Mark is grateful to not have that knot of tension in his stomach this time, to not be carrying around the fear that she won’t come back. “Well, I hope the surgery goes well, and that you have a good time. Say hi to everyone. And remember –”  
  
“Not to push myself too hard, I know.” Addison wants to roll her eyes, but she does appreciate how much he cares. She gives Mark a long hug instead. “Love you,” she says softly into his neck, and then lifts her head to whisper closer to his ear. “Your daughter is going to cry when I leave. Also, she only picked at a few strawberries and blueberries, so she’s probably still a bit hungry.”  
  
“I know. I’ve got it under control,” Mark assures her, pulling back from the hug so that Kate can get her turn. Kate was very insistent on wanting to be the _last_ one to hug Mommy before she leaves, but she has been waiting patiently on the couch in the meantime. She is only half-interested in watching _Daniel Tiger’s Neighborhood_ at the moment though, and forgets the show entirely when Mommy gives her a hug and a kiss and tells her that she loves her to the moon and back and will call her tonight.  
  
Kate starts to cry as soon as Mark shuts the front door behind Addison.   
  
“Buddy…” Mark says sympathetically when he sees the tears falling down her cheeks. Kate holds her arms out, just like she would do as a baby when she wanted to be comforted. He quickly bends down to wrap her in his arms.  
  
“I wanted to go too,” she whimpers into his chest.   
  
“I know. I know you did. But Mommy won’t be gone for more than a few days. She’s saving the lives of some babies and their mom, remember? She’ll be back before you know it. Everything is going to be okay. What about if I play hooky today and we just do some fun stuff instead?”  
  
“What is a hooky?” Kate looks up at him, one tear-stained cheek still crushed against his shoulder. Her distress definitely simmered though at the mention of _fun stuff_.  
  
“It means I’m not going to go to work today, which means you don’t have to go to daycare. What do you think, Katiebee?”  
  
Kate gives him a watery smile. “Can we go to McDonald’s?”  
  
“Well, it’s too early for lunch right now, but yeah, we’ll definitely go to McDonald’s later. What if we have pancakes in the meantime?”  
  
“With chocolate chips?”  
  
“Yep,” Mark taps her on the nose, and she manages a wider smile. “You know that’s the only way the Sloans eat them.”  
  
\------  
  
“How’s my little girl doing?” Addison asks when she calls around eight PM New York time. Mark is barely able to get in a _hello_ first, but her anxiousness about how Kate is coping does not surprise him; he knows he would have done the same thing if their roles were reversed.   
  
“Lots of tears when you left, but she’s doing better now. Much better. We had a fun day – I’ll let her tell you about it though. She’s washing her face and brushing her teeth right now…or supposed to be, at least. How’s Seattle?”  
  
“Wet. Rainy. But I met my patient, checked in with what felt like a million people, and I’ll be in the OR first thing tomorrow. Oh, and Sprout officially has godparents,” she says. She asked Derek and Meredith very casually over dinner; she is just too tired these days to embrace any creativity. “I just got back from their place. It’s absolutely stunning, which of course gives me feelings about the fact that we _don’t_ have a home yet.”  
  
“Hey, we’re working on that. I know none of the homes we’ve looked at yet really feel like ‘ours’ or have been what we’re looking for, but we’ll find something before the baby comes,” Mark says gently. _Also, you’re making it sound like we’re homeless, and we’re definitely not_ , he thinks, but does not say.  
  
“Yeah, I know,” Addison sighs. “They told me afterwards that when they picked me up at the airport – in the jeep of Derek’s that you know I hate – they both thought I looked pregnant. They were very, _very_ quick to tell me that it’s because I’m glowing though, not because of the noticeable bump…bright and shiny, they called it.”  
  
“Well, you _are_ bright and shiny.”  
  
“Sometimes,” she laughs. “Hey, you remember Alex Karev? The intern who wanted to go into plastics?  
  
Mark rolls his eyes. “I remember you thought he was total man candy.”  
  
“Spoiler alert: he still is. But, anyway – I wanted to tell you that he actually _has_ gone the Peds track. Did I call that or what?”  
  
“You did. You’re never wrong.”  
  
\------  
  
“This is my first time in a real tent,” Kate giggles, smiling at her father. She just finished saying goodnight to Mommy and told her all about her fun day with Daddy, so she is feeling a _lot_ better now.   
  
Mark smiles back at her. Kate has wanted to go camping for a long time, and this afternoon while she was peacefully munching on the contents of her Happy Meal, an idea came to Mark. So this evening, they spread out a tablecloth and ate pizza on the floor, had microwaved s’mores for dessert, assembled a tent together (Savvy and Weiss were gracious enough to lend it to them), and placed Kate’s galaxy projector nightlight outside the tent to mimic the appearance of sleeping under the stars.  
  
Mark promises her that one day when she and Sprout are a bit older, the whole family will go on a _real_ camping trip. Kate tells him (accurately) that she does not think Mommy will want to go camping.  
  
He chuckles. “No, she probably won’t, but she’ll have fun once she gets there. Sometimes we all have to do things that aren’t our favorite things. We both eat broccoli at dinner because it makes your mom happy, right?”  
  
Kate smiles conspiratorially. “Yeah, but sometimes if Mommy’s not looking, you eat my broccoli for me. But, Daddy…I don’t think Mommy has _shoes_ for camping.”   
  
“She can’t wear high heels?” He teases.   
  
“No,” Kate responds, deadly serious. “That would make them look bad. They would get dirty and get little scratches on them. And that would make Mommy so sad.”  
  
“You’re right. We’ll make sure we buy Mommy some good shoes first. Okay, let’s get going with reading, because it is _way_ past your bedtime now. I actually have a new book for you that I think you’ll like.” Mark reaches behind his pillow for a book Addison ordered from Amazon around the time they told Kate she was going to be a big sister. “Do you want to go grab _Madeline_ though? Or a second book?”  
  
Kate shakes her head while getting Maggie the stuffed elephant settled in her lap. “No. I just want you to read the new book to me,” she says, tapping a finger to the cover of the picture book, where a baby and doggy are lying on a blanket, flanked by a mommy and daddy. Kate knows all the letters of the alphabet, and is able to match some written words (this does not surprise them, because Addison was a voracious reader from an early age), but she likes it _best_ when Mommy and Daddy read to her at night.   
  
“Okay, good,” Mark smiles. He feels like this is the perfect time to read this new book, since Addison is not here. His wife could not make it through _You Were the First_ without crying when she skimmed it by herself. Kate nuzzles into his shoulder when he opens to the first page. Lots of pauses in his reading occur along the way for Kate to look over each picture, but eventually they make it to the end.   
  
“You were the first to teach us how to be parents,” Mark reads. “One day there may be a second or a third to sleep in the basket with the yellow ribbon wound round. But you will always be the first.”  
  
(Mark does not have tears in his eyes, but the words do stir some emotions in him, so he can definitely empathize with why this book made his wife cry.)  
  
“I will always be the first because I was _borned_ first,” Kate says.   
  
He nods. “Yes. You were born first. And that makes you so special to us, Katiebee.”  
  
“But…but will you love the new baby more than me?” She asks this so softly that Mark feels his heart clench. He and Addison figured this would come up eventually – Kate has been excited about the baby so far, but feelings of jealousy, confusion, and a fear of getting left behind were bound to come up at some point.  
  
“Hey,” he kisses the top of her head. “I am going to love you and your baby brother or sister the exact same amount. And you and me – and you and Mommy – will still get to do special things together. It will be different with a new baby at first, because babies can’t take care of themselves and they can’t do all the big girl things you can do. They need to get rocked to sleep, fed, and have their diapers changed. You’re going to have so much fun with your little brother or sister though, and your mom and I are going to love you just as much as we do right now.” He tucks a loose strand of hair that has escaped her ponytail back behind her ear. “And remember, it’s like the book we just read: you are always going to be extra special to me because you’re the first born. And you’ll always be my little girl no matter how big you get.”  
  
\------   
  
Mark looks at his phone a few nights later when a text from Addison comes in around ten PM. He figures she is just requesting another update, even though he told her about an hour ago – when he received word that all the members of the second-generation trio were down for the night – that Kate is doing fine at Savvy and Weiss’s. It is far from Kate’s first sleepover at the twins’ house, but Mark and Addison still always feel a little on alert, just in case she wakes up and wants to come home.  
  
Instead, Mark blinks in surprise when he sees what she texted: _I just landed. Moved my flight up. I’m grabbing a cab right now, so I’ll see you in a half hour._  
  
“Hey,” he calls her immediately. “I didn’t realize you were – I can come get you, Addie. Kate’s not here and it’s not like I have anything else going on, so it’s not a problem.”  
  
“No, it’s okay,” Addison responds. He can hear her clearly, but it is definitely loud enough to indicate she is still within the walls of LaGuardia. “I could be home by the time you get here. I’ll be safe – I’m hopping directly into a cab. Mark, I need you to do something for me though.”  
  
He assumes it is what she usually wants lately. “Sure. You want me to go get you a smoothie?”  
  
“Nope. Get naked.”  
  
“Wait…what?”  
  
“It’s those damn elevators at Seattle Grace,” Addison says throatily. “I swear they’re like an aphrodisiac or something. Anywhere, there is _that_ , and also the fact that I’ve reached the second trimester. Well, not officially for another week, but apparently the feelings that accompany the second trimester have already hit me right in the –”  
  
“Addison,” he interrupts with a laugh. “Do I need to end this call? As much as I love when you talk like this, may I remind you that you’re in public right now?”  
  
“Doesn’t that make it hotter?”  
  
“Probably, but _still_. I’m stripping off my clothes right now, but I don’t know if I trust your over-sexualized self to revert back to a normal conversation right now. I love you and I’ll see you soon, okay?”  
  
“You have no idea how much I want you right now, Mark. Just thinking about you…I’m getting so –”  
  
“Hanging up now, Addison.”  
  
Addison does not attempt to call him back, but while Mark waits for her to get home, he does receive _many_ explicit text messages.   
  
\------  
  
“I want to take you somewhere today,” Mark says the following morning as he slides a smoothie over to Addison, and begins to prepare a cup of coffee for himself.  
  
“Back to the bedroom?”  
  
“No,” Mark laughs and shakes his head. He knows he set himself up for that one. It was a long, long night. A _good_ night, but a long one. And he’s definitely feeling it this morning. How exactly _she_ doesn’t appear to be feeling it, and how she’s not completely exhausted from everything he did with her and _to_ her, Mark has no idea. “I shouldn’t be surprised that’s immediately where you went, but no. You need to give me some time to recover or neither of us is going to be able to walk out of here without limping. Our real estate agent emailed me some pictures this morning of a place that is about to be listed. She has an inside hookup, apparently. And the wife is a professor at Columbia, so we can definitely play the alumni card, too. But, look…” he abandons the coffee for now and comes over to her. He swipes his finger against the screen of his phone, showing her a few pictures. “It seems…perfect.”  
  
Addison’s eyes light up. “Yeah, it does.”  
  
“And if this ends up being our house…” he nudges her shoulder playfully. “There are going to be so many rooms and surfaces that you and I are going to need to christen.”  
  
“God, _please_ don’t tell me things like that when basically _everything_ is sexually arousing me right now.”  
  
“I’ll do my best.”  
  
\------


	39. Hopes and Expectations

**Chapter 39. Hopes and Expectations**  
  
They find their dream home within the never-ending, nightmarish battle royale that is buying property in Manhattan. They _think_ , at least. This is their second time walking through a meticulously renovated limestone townhouse located on a quiet, residential block on the Upper West Side. Their real estate agent has stepped outside to take another call, which gives them a chance to breathe.  
  
“I just want to be sure we’re not making this decision just because of your little fashion show room,” Mark says, in reference to the light-filled dressing room situated between the bedroom and bathroom of the master suite on the second floor (he won’t call it the parlor floor, because that is just God damn ridiculous). He sees the appeal of this room though, given that it overlooks the backyard garden and has his-and-hers walk-in closets, as well as mirrored French closet doors on each side of the room with upper cabinets, and a large center island for additional storage, which means Mark might actually be able to access some of his non-dresser clothes and shoes without having to trample over his wife’s stuff.  
  
Addison raises an amused eyebrow. “And I just want to make sure we’re not making this decision just because you like the idea of the kids’ rooms being on the floor above ours so that for any late night sneak-out attempts they make as teenagers…they’ll have to pass by our room first.”   
  
“I would not ever go outside by _myself_ at night,” Kate says, tugging on her father’s arm to get his attention.  
  
“You say that now…” Mark teases, lifting Kate up onto his shoulders. Addison clucks in protest as he carries her down the stairs this way, back to the first floor (also known as the garden-level, which she will definitely tell Mark from time to time just to annoy him). “What do you think of this place, Katiebee?”  
  
“I _love_ this house. It’s so big. It’s like being inside a _castle_ ,” Kate answers, resting her chin on top of his head. Mark doesn’t necessarily disagree, even though everything in Manhattan seems to be taller than it is wide, so it all tends to feel vaguely claustrophobic, just in a massively privileged way. He likes this place the best though of all the ones they have looked at.   
  
“And I like that it has a backyard,” Kate adds, chirping happily. “Daddy, do you know how the Red Sox –”  
  
“We don’t speak that name in this house, child.”  
  
“ _Daddy_.”  
  
“I’m just kidding…go ahead.”  
  
“You know the monster wall thing where the Red Sox play?” Kate asks, and Mark nods. His feet shuffle against the wide-planked hardwood once they’re back on the first floor. “The fence in the backyard is really high, just like that. So when we play catch and hit wiffle balls, they won’t go over the fence. _And_ the vine things make it look like Rapunzel lives here, too.”  
  
“You make some good points,” Mark says, grinning at her description of the garden-area backyard with wrought-iron trellises framing the high fence. He thinks it will need some work to make it more child-friendly, but to quote one of the many clichéd phrases they have heard throughout their housing market journey, it has a lot of potential.   
  
Addison ambles behind Mark and Kate, certain she wasn’t this winded when she was this far along with Kate, but she grudgingly acknowledges that she has been very spoiled by elevators. It will definitely take some getting used to all these stairs. If this is the place for them, Addison thinks she will make a deal with Mark (more likely tell him exactly what is going to happen). Since the washer and dryer are in the basement, she will do the folding (which is fine, because she doesn’t like how Mark folds clothes anyway), but he will handle the actual laundering part since that involves another set of stairs.  
  
Addison holds a hand to her stomach as she watches Mark and Kate move through the living room, edging past the eat-in kitchen adjacent to a small dining room. Mark opens the floor-to-ceiling French doors that lead out to the backyard. Sunlight floods in when the doors yawn open.  
  
“I think this is it, Baby Sprout,” Addison whispers, and the child inside her moves in a flutter of limbs. Mark sets Kate down outside, and looks back at her. She nods and smiles.  
  
They are home.  
  
\------  
  
“Mommy…” Kate squeezes her eyes shut when Addison pours the rinse pail over her wet hair, washing out lingering traces of shampoo. “You and Daddy are still going to sleep in my room tonight, right?”  
  
“We are,” Addison assures. They have reached the middle of August, and this is their first night sleeping in the new house. “And Kate, I know it’s a little weird being in a new house and that our room isn’t on the same floor as yours, but you know there is nothing to be scared of, right?”  
  
“I am _not_ scared.” Kate lets one eye pop open, being extra careful since shampoo is still being coaxed out of her hair.   
  
“Okay,” Addison says, ignoring the resentful scowl blossoming across her daughter’s face, and of course opting not to mention that a mere twenty minutes ago before bath-time started, Kate was wailing at the idea of having to sleep in her new room all by herself. Personally, Addison is just dreading the idea of three bodies (four, technically) crammed into a full-sized bed. “Well, good. We’ll have a fun little sleepover, and we can start to talk about how you want to decorate your new room. And after we finish your room, we can figure out how to decorate the baby’s room. We need more than just a teddy bear, right?”  
  
“Yeah,” Kate grins, reaching for a penguin bath toy that has spiraled out of her reach. Addison has been trying to include Kate in all things baby-related, even though she hasn’t gotten far yet. Kate recently got it into her head that the baby would try to “take” Maggie, so they went out and purchased a stuffed animal for Sprout (although Kate has been “taking care of” the teddy bear in the meantime, so Addison is not quite sure how easily Kate will hand over Sprout’s toy come the end of January).  
  
“Afraid of what’s in the closet,” Mark says softly once Kate has fallen asleep between them, after a few hugs and reassurances in order to feel safe. Mark is not belittling her worries, but it is just hard to reconcile this version of Kate with what else he knows to be true most of the time. “This is the same daredevil kid who slides head-first at every opportunity, wants to stand outside during the middle of storms, flips every which way on the jungle gym, and didn’t think twice about going down to investigate the basement on her own. I know you probably would have preferred a Ravenclaw or Hufflepuff, but – tonight excepted – I think we’ve got ourselves a Gryffindor kid.”  
  
Addison smiles in agreement over Kate’s sleeping head. Their daughter is a lovely five-year-old. Not a perfect kid by any means, but a perfect kid for _them_. Kate is kind. Friendly. Brave. Curious. Creative. Strong-willed (a good or a bad thing, depending on the circumstances). She likes reading, coloring, swimming, animals (Arctic foxes are currently her favorite), anything that involves the opportunity to throw or kick a ball, and singing (she has a terrible voice, but they are glad she feels so comfortable with dramatic play and performing). She plays tee ball in the spring and soccer in the fall. She eats her pop tarts upside down. She is pretty good at talking about her feelings, and has gotten a lot better at sharing, chewing with her mouth closed, and not being a sore loser. And, while she might have been a little scared tonight, for the most part she is a confident, feisty little girl.   
  
“Probably with some Slytherin sprinkled in there,” Addison admits. “It’s just going to take her a little time to adjust to our new place. Oh, and speaking of Hogwarts houses, Sprout is a Hufflepuff. I’m sure he or she will be competitive like his or her big sister and be a little show-off sometimes, but I just…have a feeling about it. This one is going to be strong, but also gentle…and a good hugger like his or her dad.” It’s really one of the only feelings Addison has had so far. She was so certain Kate was a girl since the beginning, but she hasn’t had an ‘aha’ moment with Sprout yet. This baby though – she feels convinced that he or she will have a peaceful, gracious soul.  
  
“That sounds like a great kid. Not that it would be the worst thing if Sprout turns out just like Kate, but -”  
  
“It would be exhausting though.”  
  
\------  
  
Kate cranes her head to look out the kitchen window, where rain is starting to fall. “We could name the baby Rain,” she says with a grin, feeling very clever when both parents laugh.  
  
It is a quiet, gloomy-looking Saturday in mid-September, though the mood at the table is anything but gloomy. They are enjoying a quick lunch together before Mark heads to the hospital to provide on-call coverage for a fellow plastic surgeon he swaps shifts with from time-to-time, usually for kid-related things. Part of this afternoon’s lunch discussion, as usual, centers around baby names. _Boy_ names.  
  
Kate started Kindergarten the first Thursday in September (she is liking it so far), and because Mark and Addison took the day off in order to handle school drop-off and pick-up themselves, they squeezed in a prenatal appointment, where they discovered they would be welcoming a son to their family in the new year. As always, seeing their child on the ultrasound took their breath away, but finding out it was a boy just sent them over the moon. They would have loved another girl, of course, but a _son_ ; how lucky they are, to have one of each.   
  
Addison directs her next suggestion towards Mark. “What about Holden?”  
  
“We are not naming our kid after a fictional character who had some real issues, Addison. Also imagine how many puns I could do with that name. Let’s see…what about Adam?”  
  
Addison shakes her head. “Kathleen has an Adam.”   
  
“Well…” Mark pauses to swallow a bite of pasta salad. “Factoring in Derek’s sisters’ kids basically cuts out like a hundred names.”  
  
Out of the corner of her eye, Addison can see Kate mouthing what she imagines is all the Shepherd cousin names she can think of. She suspects her daughter won’t get them all, and frankly, Addison doesn’t blame her; they were her official nieces and nephews for many years, and now are her nieces and nephews in a more _un_ official sense, and it’s still a lot of names to remember. Addison doesn’t have the same relationship with the Shepherds as she did before, but it isn’t markedly different, either. It is just an altered form of closeness. She still texts with Derek’s sisters (mainly Nancy and Amelia), and usually checks in with Carolyn once a week. Kate has met all the Shepherd nieces and nephews at one time or another (she calls them her cousins, and they do the same with her), and refers to Carolyn as “Nana.” They even went to Carolyn’s house for Easter last year. The Shepherds have grown to ten nieces and seven nephews, and although Addison has not pried, she suspects Meredith and Derek will start trying soon, if they haven’t already.   
  
Coming up with a girl name would have been easier. Much easier. Before the twenty-week ultrasound, they had discussed names a bit, and quickly came to a decision if they were to have a second daughter: _Ella_. For whatever reason, boy names have been harder.   
  
“Joshua?” Addison suggests.   
  
“Everyone would call him Josh.”  
  
“So? I think that’s a cute name.”   
  
“Kate.” Mark points his fork towards their daughter, who is making quite the show of using a half-eaten chicken nugget to blend the pools of ketchup and ranch together on her plate. “Say ‘Josh Sloan.’”  
  
“Josh Shh-loan.”  
  
“See? It’s clunky-sounding. Anything that ends in an ‘s’ or ‘shh’ sound just doesn’t seem to work with Sloan. I should have taken your last name. Also, _one_ of us had a lisp as a kid, so you might want to consider that, too,” Mark says. Addison tries the name out a few times, whispering it under her breath. She ultimately agrees.  
  
“What about Olaf?” Kate says. Both parents try to offer encouraging nods.   
  
They work through a bunch more non- _Frozen_ names: Logan, Jack, William, Dylan, Garrett, Connor, Matthew. Some, thankfully, they do like enough to write down (William, Connor, and Jack), even though there is no clear front runner yet.   
  
Mark throws out another option just to garner a laugh. “Mark Junior?”   
  
Addison looks at Kate, who giggles and is _all_ too happy to provide the answer.  
  
“Mommy said one Mark is bad enough. But…” Kate motions to the list by Addison’s hand. “I _know_ how to read…” she narrows her eyes, as though waiting to see if either parent calls her out. She can read a _little_ , but not that much yet. “You didn’t write down Olaf and Kristoff. Olaf could be the first name and Kristoff could be the middle name.”   
  
“Olaf Kristoff Sloan,” Mark and Addison say out loud.   
  
Mark grins weakly at Addison when they are cleaning up from lunch. “Olaf Kristoff sounds better than Sprout Sloan, at least.”  
  
\------  
  
Addison glances toward the bay window in her bedroom where her daughter is currently seated. A low-rumble of thunder curls through the night sky, and Kate peers back at her with a smile, just to confirm she heard it too.  
  
“Are you even watching the movie anymore…?” Addison nods towards the flat screen, where _Beauty and the Beast_ is currently playing, the before-bed movie of choice for the night. “Or are you just watching the storm?” Her daughter loves watching the rain. It’s one of the only times she’s really still.   
  
“I am watching both,” Kate answers calmly, even though her eyes have been focused pretty exclusively on the rain water sluicing the outside of the window for the past few minutes. “Mommy? Do you see where I drawed Kate on the window with my finger? Right here. K-a-t-e.”  
  
“I do see. You’re doing a great job with your letters. Mrs. Wilson must be so proud of you. You know, when you used to be littler, like around age two, you would _lick_ the inside of windows.”  
  
Kate giggles at this, creating another spiral design in the steam. “Maybe I was trying to drink the water on the outside.”  
  
_You did it on non-rainy days too, you sweet little weirdo_ , Addison thinks.   
  
“Well, if you have some time between watching the movie and watching the rain, maybe we should talk about the big event at the end of this month,” Addison says, which prompts an intrigued grin from Kate. “We need to get your Halloween costume soon. Do you still want to be Anna from _Frozen_?”  
  
“Yes, but I want the _Queen_ Anna dress. Not the regular one.” Kate twists around on the cushion, and then folds her legs criss-cross applesauce. “Can I get two costumes? One to wear to school for the Halloween Parade and one to wear at night when I go trick-or-treating with you and Daddy?”  
  
“I think we’re probably just going to get one costume,” Addison replies. “If you want to wear a different costume though, you could always wear what you wore last year. You were Madeline, remember?”  
  
Kate smiles. “If I wear the Madeline one, you could be Miss Clavel.”  
  
_Because being a pregnant nun wouldn’t be raise any eyebrows_ , Addison thinks amusedly.   
  
“But Mommy…” Kate continues, not about to give up this battle just yet. “I don’t think the Queen Anna dress is warm enough to wear at night when we go out trick-or-treating. I might get cold.” She crosses her arms and makes a shivering motion.   
  
“That’s what jackets and coats are for,” Addison says with a light smile.   
  
Kate shakes her head. “But then you won’t see all of my Anna dress. So maybe I really _do_ need a second costume.”   
  
“You’re gonna make a great lawyer when you grow up. Just like Grandpa Henry. Now, come over here for a sec,” Addison reaches for her iPad, and crooks a finger towards Kate to get her to join her so they can look at costume options together. She knows Kate doesn’t need a second costume, but the little girl really doesn’t ask for much (other than McDonald’s for dinner constantly), so it didn’t take long for Addison to give in on this. The hormones don’t help, because there are just so many _lasts_ now. This will be their last Halloween as a family of three.   
  
“No, not a lawyer. I want to be a doctor like you. Or a teacher,” Kate says as she joins her mother under the blanket. She did want to be an astronaut for a bit, but she would only want to go to space if Mommy and Daddy could go with her, and they already have grownup jobs, so she thinks she would rather be a doctor or teacher.   
  
They look at a few different sites, and just when Addison thinks Kate will go with a puppy costume that they’ve bookmarked (no luck with finding an Arctic fox one), her daughter sees a blue and purple Stegosaurus costume with a tail that lights up along its spikes. Kate starts laughing so hard that she has to hold on to her belly. Addison adds it to the shopping cart once Kate has told her this is the one she wants. It looks cozy, but she will still force Kate to wear warm layers underneath, and she mentally starts preparing herself for the clash now.  
  
“My tummy feels funny from laughing,” Kate says once Addison has placed an order for one Queen Anna costume and one light-up dinosaur costume. “Thank you, Mommy,” she adds, because she remembers she forgot to say that. “You can have all of my Halloween candy.”  
  
Addison lifts an eyebrow. “Oh, really? All of it?”  
  
“Well, maybe just half.”  
  
\------  
  
“Oh, hey.” Mark blinks in surprise upon finding Addison sitting up in bed rereading some old novel (probably more for looking for baby names than enjoyment). An emergency came in right before his shift was due to be over, so he ended up staying an extra two hours. “What are you still doing up?”  
  
She grins. “Insomnia. And a kicking, no-name baby, who of course stopped kicking immediately after I went downstairs to get myself a cup of tea. Hufflepuff my ass – that was some pure Slytherin energy. Then I saw your text that you’d be home soon, so I figured I’d just wait up so that you can give my very sore shoulders a massage and then cuddle with me. Oh, and Two-Costume Kate wants you to go in and say goodnight to her at some point. And,” Addison smirks. “She will _know_ if you don’t. I had to help her with some of the words, but essentially she left a note for you on her nightstand. It says: ‘Daddy, did you come in to tell me goodnight when I was asleep?’ And you’re supposed to check the ‘yes’ box.”  
  
“Wait…is there a ‘no’ box as well?”  
  
“There is,” Addison confirms with a laugh. “And I never really thought to ask her _why_ there was a ‘no’ box, because who am I to question Kindergarten logic.”  
  
“Got it. And _Two_ -Costume Kate, you said?”  
  
Addison rolls her eyes. “Yeah, I caved. But I don’t really want to see a look of smugness on the face of the cave-iest parent in the world.”  
  
“I won’t be smug because I wouldn’t have even _pretended_ to push back when she said she wanted a second costume. She would have weaseled a third out of me.” Mark grins.  
  
\------  
  
“You still want a massage?” Mark says when he climbs in beside her. While he was getting ready for bed and checking boxes off notes, Addison had put her book down and rolled onto her side.   
  
“No. Just cuddle. You checked the ‘yes’ box?”  
  
“I did.”  
  
“You really wanted to check the ‘no’ one, didn’t you?”  
  
Mark folds an arm over her waist, drawing her body against his. “Wouldn’t you have?”  
  
“Probably,” she admits. “So Kate will be going as Queen Anna for Halloween in the morning to school, and then will be a dinosaur at night.”  
  
“A dinosaur? That’s different,” he murmurs into her shoulder. “I like it though. And Anna’s not the queen…Elsa is. God, I hate that I know that.”  
  
Addison smirks. “Ah, but you haven’t seen _Frozen 2_.”  
  
“And I hope I never have to.”  
  
“Oh, it’s only a matter of time,” she rolls over to face him, a smile teasing at her lips. “Hi,” she says softly, brushing her lips against his. Her palm flexes against his hipbone, warm and suggestive.  
  
“Hi,” Mark whispers back, scraping a hand through her hair. “Is that look in your eyes because I left you a non-checkbox note before I went to work?”  
  
“No, but I do love when you leave me little love letters sometimes. I save them, you know,” she blushes. “Not the dirty ones, but the sappy ones.”  
  
Mark grins. “It probably doesn’t count as a love letter when it’s only _one_ sentence. I meant it, that you looked nice today, but it’s hardly a letter. Also, does it count as a love letter when I normally just work off of sticky notes or grocery list notepads? Oh, or that one time I wrote one on a piece of Kate’s _Sesame Street_ stationary because I couldn’t find a Post-it. That was a pretty quick, uninspired letter though. I felt like Bert and Ernie were judging me.”   
  
“Bert was definitely judging you. Post-its and one-sentence compliments still count as love letters in my book though. Anyway. It’s been a few days for us, hasn’t it?” She asks, eyes still glittering deviously. They continue to have sex regularly, and each time feels exquisite, particularly during the second trimester when the surge in hormones has boosted her sex drive, but there are plenty of nights where she craves sleep more than sex. And although Mark’s hubris would probably prevent him from admitting the same thing out loud, he often feels the same way.  
  
“It has,” he confirms. “We haven’t had sex in eight days, Addison.”  
  
“Oh, eight days,” she deadpans. “Poor you. You’re seriously _tracking_ the number of days though? Do you know how insulting that is to me?”  
  
“Not on purpose,” he says quickly, smoothing a finger over the indignant wrinkle that has formed between her eyebrows. “Sorry. I only remember because last Friday night was…quite memorable. That’s gonna be in my head for a while.”  
  
Addison smiles, feeling herself soften. “I’d never done it on a dryer before. Second trimester Addison is kind of a firecracker.”  
  
“You’re always a firecracker. And hey, you know my sappy-ass likes cuddling with you as much as I like having sex with you. More, actually, though you can never, ever repeat that, especially to Savvy…I’ll never hear the end of it.” Mark’s fingers trace over the length of her spine, and she sighs, a frisson of desire filling her. He takes a brief moment to suck on her lower lip. “Plus, this hasn’t ever been just about sex, despite how often I want it. Life with you is…kind of perfect.”   
  
“You’re laying it on pretty thick now since I didn’t like the eight days remark, but I know you mean every word of it. We’ve made a pretty beautiful life together, and things are just so, _so_ good lately, you know? And, lucky for you…” Addison tugs his hips to hers, and smirks when she can feel the beginning of his excitement against her thigh. “I want you right now.”  
  
“Here or the dryer?” He says with a laugh, easing her shirt over her head and immediately going to work, moving leisurely, but with intent: mouth trailing down her neck, tongue outlining her collarbone, lips warm against the flushed skin between her breasts.  
  
“Here.” Her amused giggle changes into a rasping sigh when Mark’s tongue soothes around one of her nipples. She arches beneath him when he switches to her other breast. Addison appreciates his gentleness; she’s been tender and sensitive in this area the entire pregnancy, but his unreasonably talented mouth knows exactly how much pressure she can take. “Here…is good. I love you, Mark.”  
  
“I love you too,” Mark whispers, capturing her lips again to kiss her deeply. He traces a hand down her body, lightly chuckling when he discovers that while he was paying attention to her breasts, unbeknownst to him, Addison had already wriggled out of her pajama bottoms and spread her legs for him. “And here is definitely good, but it’s about to get even better for you, just so you know.”   
  
Addison lifts her hips towards him, more than ready for his touch. “Definitely seems like it.”  
  
\------

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you read and remember the original fic (which, good for you, because that was a LONG time ago), you may remember that baby #2 was named Joshua (nickname Josh). I have long regretted selecting Joshua/Josh as Kid Number 2’s name. Name Regret is a real thing. And I absolutely love that name, but I hated how it sounded with Sloan and I thought so, so many times about changing it. So. That’s happening now. Hashtag No Regrets — Also, I know this will sound like a lie, but honest to God, Henry was my runner-up name for that kid, so when Addison selected it for her Private Practice son, boy did I have some feeeeelings.


	40. Somehow We’re Never Quite Prepared

**Chapter 40. Somehow We’re Never Quite Prepared**  
  
October segues into a blustery November, at which point organizing and decorating their home shifts into overdrive to ensure everything is done before the holidays and before their baby comes into the world. As promised, they tackle Kate’s bedroom first. Their daughter doesn’t necessarily know exactly what she wants for her room, but she has very strong opinions about what she does _not_ want, which leads to a lot of power struggles, online shopping, paint swatch collecting, and parental headaches. They eventually go with teal walls with dark purple trim, two-tone curtains in similar shades, wall decor with no obvious theme, an obnoxiously large beanbag chair, and a dome-shaped canopy tent in the corner to serve as a reading nook for Kate. They fill the tent with throw pillows, including a squishy taco one that Kate asks for very nicely. Addison initially went into the process thinking her daughter would go for more of a _Frozen_ or mermaid-themed type room, but Kate throws her for a loop and ends up selecting unicorn bedding. Ultimately, the theme for Kate’s room is just: _this is a lot_.  
  
Kate’s vision for Sprout’s room is fairly nonspecific: “an ocean.” Shortly thereafter, she pretty much loses interest, which is a blessing since it leaves Addison to place orders with fewer opinions and a lot less whining. They are able to reuse Kate’s old changing table and crib, and purchase prints of various sea animals and ocean-ish things to hang on the walls. They leave one wall white and decorate it with wave decals, and the process of positioning each decal on a specific spot leads to one of the worst bickering matches between Mark and Addison to date (the make-up sex is pretty great though). The other three walls are painted a sky blue, which Addison is initially skeptical about because it just feels like such a predictable choice for the room of a baby boy, but she ends up being happy with the end result. The color goes well with everything else, is soothing, and the paint color itself didn’t come with an annoying or misleading name.   
  
Things became less predictable when Kate checks back in for a second and says they should paint the entire door green to “look like seaweed.” They settle for painting the trim a color that instantly reminds them, rather fittingly, of sprouts.  
  
\------  
  
“Hey,” Mark says as he comes into the kitchen. Addison is about halfway through getting Kate’s lunch packed for school tomorrow. “I took care of the outlet plug covers in Sprout’s room, so I think that’s it for the night…unless there’s another issue with the wall decals?”  
  
“That’s a pretty surly tone for someone who got a blowjob out of that whole debacle.”  
  
“True,” Mark laughs. “You need any help with lunch?”  
  
“I’m almost done, but if you could fill her water bottle and throw some pretzels in a baggie that would be great. Look at this…” Addison gestures to her latest food art creation (lest she sound like Super Mom, she only manages this creative feat once a week, if that). “I used cookie cutters to make slices of block cheese look like flowers, and then I stuck carrot sticks through the bottom to look like stems. And the halved cucumbers are supposed to be leaves.”  
  
“Adorable. But you know she’s just gonna eat the cheese and trash the veggies, right?”  
  
“Which is exactly why she’s going to get another helping of vegetables for dinner tomorrow,” Addison says. “So, Friday night…”  
  
“Oh, yeah. That black-tie benefit-gala-fundraiser hospital thing. Do we have to go to that?”  
  
“That’s definitely _exactly_ what it’s called. And yeah, since the entire board will be there and it was mentioned weeks ago at a staff meeting…we probably need to make an appearance. I spoke to Lauren though and she’s available to watch Kate that evening. Our darling daughter, who overheard me talking on the phone with Savvy about how I don’t have any maternity formal wear, so I’ll need to get something…and Kate got it into her head that it’s a costume party. She said I should dress up as BB-8 because my body is a ‘big, round circle now just like BB-8’s,’” Addison rolls her eyes. “That was a fun thing to hear at twenty-eight weeks. Kate is going to be in for a real shock when I keep getting bigger and bigger.”  
  
“Addison…” Mark says sympathetically. His wife looks more amused than upset about the comment, but he still feels the need to do some preemptive damage control. “You know that I think -”  
  
“Yeah, yeah. I know. I’m okay. Although I have to say…I’m a bit surprised. I was expecting you to make a _Baby_ -8 joke.”  
  
Mark’s expression turns sheepish. “Already there, but I thought saying that might hurt your feelings, so I was just gonna text Sav later to ask her to give me some kudos for not saying it out loud.”   
  
\------  
  
Mark glances at his watch as he steps through the front door, grateful to be running ahead of schedule. Addison left work about an hour before him in order to start getting ready for the gala (he is still unclear on what this thing is called, and what they’re even raising money for…his guess is something charity-ish ahead of Thanksgiving). Mark smiles when he hears light chattering from his daughter and Lauren in the kitchen. (His is a genuine smile, but perhaps not as big as the smile he had earlier in the week when Addison told him Kate was going to sleep over at _Lauren’s_ house on Friday, rather than just being put to bed here…which implies a lot of things.)   
  
“It isn’t Halloween costumes, so is it a ball like in _Cinderella_?” Kate asks Lauren as she drops a disc into the Connect Four grid (she is always red). She has angled herself more towards the backyard, so she hasn’t noticed her dad come into the kitchen yet.   
  
“Well, I bet everyone will be dressed really nice, but I don’t think your mom is going to run away at the end of the night,” Lauren says with a smirk, catching Mark’s eye over Kate’s shoulder. “And no talking mice.”  
  
“And we’ll be home way before midnight, I’m sure,” Mark says, and Kate let out a happy shriek and wiggles around on full-backed bar stool flanking the center island in order for her dad to cuddle her in for a hug. “My limit for schmoozing with other doctors is about two hours,” he adds. “Thank you again for taking her for the night.”  
  
“Not a problem. We’re going to order pizza and watch some movies. Alright…” Lauren starts to put the game away (it’s coming with them, so Kate doesn’t protest that her nanny is disassembling the grid mid-game). “You’re all packed, little miss. You want to finish saying goodbye to your dad while I grab my purse?”  
  
“I already know to be good.” Kate quickly tells her father.   
  
Mark tugs on the end of her braid. “So I guess you also already know that Mommy and I love you and want you to have a fun time with Lauren, but remember to say ‘please’ and ‘thank you.’ And clean up after yourself.”  
  
The look Kate gives him is pure Addison. “Daddy, that’s what being good _means_.”  
  
“Got it. You said goodbye to your mom already, right?”  
  
“Yep. Daddy…you should go look at her. Mommy looks like a princess.”  
  
\------  
  
Mark hovers in the doorway that splits the master bathroom from the dressing room, observing Addison getting ready with all the excitement of a mother who gets to _go out_ and _do something_. His daughter is right, which is usually the case with redheads Mark loves. Sequins cling to the navy blue Badgley Mischka gown Addison is wearing, and each subtle movement makes the length of the gown shimmer. He watches as the other side of the evening gown is revealed when Addison turns towards one of the closet mirrors to flick a mascara wand over her eyelashes – a draped cowl-back that shows off a generous portion of her spine and creamy shoulder blades.  
  
“Hey, creeper,” Addison greets, catching sight of him in the mirror. She recaps the mascara and turns around. “I hope you like what you’re seeing.” She playfully fluffs some hair behind her ear.  
  
Mark chuckles. “I do. Kate said you look like a princess. And she’s definitely right.”  
  
“Yeah?” She offers him a pleased look, and then points a finger towards Mark’s evening attire, hanging neatly inside one of closet doors. “I started to get your stuff together for you.”  
  
“Thanks. And yeah,” Mark adds, pulling his shirt over his head and reaching for the black wool dinner jacket and tuxedo shirt. “A very, very ridiculously _hot_ princess. I love that dress on you.”  
  
“The maternity shapewear underneath definitely helps.”   
  
“Just take the compliment, Ad. You sure you want to go to this thing though?” Mark climbs into his tuxedo pants a little slower than necessary. “We could just stay here, and you can keep wearing that dress.”  
  
“Keep wearing it?” Addison looks up from a pair of earrings she has pushed to the side, now eliminated from contention. She has lined several dangling pairs up on the center island. “I would assume if you want to stay here, the dress would wind up on the floor.”  
  
“Nah, I’m too into it. We’ll just hike it up over those thighs and hips of yours I like so much,” Mark smirks. His phone lets out a little chime and he goes to reach into his pocket, but then remembers he set his phone and wallet on the island. He finishes getting his shirt buttoned and jacket on first before reaching for the phone. He blinks in surprise when he sees who the text message is from.   
  
He has his mother-in-law’s phone number, and she has his, but he does not believe Isabelle Montgomery has ever texted him before. He tenses at the words: _Please call me. Don’t say anything to Addie before you call._ And Mark thinks he knows, but he hopes he is wrong. Because to be right would be heartbreaking. And everything has been so good lately. They’ve been so happy. _Addison_ has been so happy. Hormonal at times, sure (he found her sobbing the other day while hanging up a wall print in Sprout’s room that says “We love you more than all the fish in the sea”), but overall she’s been _relaxed_. There really hasn’t been a lot of stress or worrying lately.  
  
“You can hike my dress up when we get back. As noisily as you want, since our kid isn’t here for the night,” Addison replies with a laugh, too busy moving to her next getting-ready task to notice Mark is no longer paying attention.   
  
“I, uh…I have to call the hospital real quick,” he manages to say, fighting off the thickness bubbling in his throat. “I’ll be right back.”  
  
\------  
  
Mark pulls open the doors to head into the backyard. They haven’t made any significant changes yet, but they’ve been talking about getting Kate an outdoor playhouse for Christmas – their daughter would love it. Mark shakes himself back to the present, counts to three, and then makes the call.  
  
“Mark?”  
  
“Hello, Isabelle,” he replies. “I saw your text. Is everything…?” He can’t finish.  
  
“It’s Henry,” Isabelle’s voice is softer than usual, lacking its clipped formality, but every word draws Mark deeper in. “He passed away this afternoon. He, um. He went into the kitchen to refill his glass of water, and I heard a crash…and when I got in there, I found him on the floor. I called 911 and he was transported to the nearest hospital, but it was…the doctor who tried to revive him said it was a heart attack. He said other things too, but…it was kind of hard to keep my bearings…I can give you his contact information though if you and Addison have questions and want more information.”  
  
“Isabelle…” Mark feels his voice catch. “God, I’m so sorry. I’m just…your husband was such -”  
  
“Thank you. I’ll plan to call and check back in tomorrow, but I was wondering in the meantime…I know this is a lot to ask, and it’s not a fair position to put you in, but I was hoping you could be the one to tell Addison.”  
  
\------   
  
“Hey,” Addison murmurs without turning around when she hears Mark shuffle back into the dressing room. “I’m pretty much done, so do whatever else you need to do…I know you don’t like the vest or bow tie, but you’re gonna have to suck it up. I just need to put these on…” she points out a pair of three-stone drop earrings that match the color of her dress. “And then grab my clutch and shoes. Oh, and you’re gonna _hate_ this, but I’m only planning on wearing a silk wrap with the dress…so I’ll be stealing your jacket later.”  
  
“Addison…” Mark begins nervously. She relocated to the end of the island nearest to the door while he was gone, which leaves them separated by mere feet. “I need to talk to you.”  
  
She sets an Ippolita earring she has lifted back down, and turns to face him, loose curls falling behind her and her expression altering to one of concern. “What’s wrong?” She rests her palms on the counter, fingers bending beneath the marble-topped edges.   
  
“Maybe we should sit down first,” Mark says. Predictably, his wife tenses at the worn-out phrase.   
  
“Don’t…don’t say that, Mark,” she shakes her head quickly. “Whatever it is, please just tell me.”  
  
“It’s about your dad. I just got off the phone with your mom. She told me…Addison, your dad died this afternoon. I’m really sorry. It was a heart attack. He -”  
  
“But…” she cuts in slowly, words feeling thick and fuzzy on her tongue. Her gaze shifts to the floor. “Tomorrow is Saturday.”  
  
“What?”  
  
“It’s just that I…I always call my parents on Saturday…ever since Kate was born. Mainly to talk to my dad though. And I always put him on FaceTime so Kate can say hello too, even though she gets bored on the phone so quickly. Tomorrow’s Saturday. I always…I always call my dad on Saturday.”  
  
“I’m so sorry. I’m sorry, Red. Your mom is planning on calling tomorrow, but if you want to talk to her sooner, we can do that.” He moves a few steps closer. The fragility of this moment, of _her_ – Mark almost feels too nervous to touch her, as though one small movement will be what completely shatters her. “Maybe we should go sit down now?”  
  
“He’s my dad. Mark, he’s my _dad_. How can he just…?” Addison’s eyes fill with tears and her skin flushes pinker, heat creeping up her chest and neck. “We shouldn’t go to the gala. We should…we should stay here.”  
  
Mark reaches a hand out, still a bit hesitant, but gently tugs one of her hands off the countertop. Her fingers vibrate beneath his. “We’re gonna stay here. You’re shaking, Addison. Is it okay if I give you a hug? We can go sit down and just -”  
  
“Yes, but I need to get this dress off first,” Addison distractedly jerks her hand out of his. “I need to get this…this _fucking_ dress off.” She bunches the material clinging to her hips between her fists, and pulls down. Nothing. She keeps trying, but the fabric does not yield under her frantic yanking, and just ends up straining uncomfortably against the curve of her stomach. She can hear Mark’s voice, but it sounds so far away. Her ears are ringing.  
  
“Addison…” Mark’s hands push against her waist, attempting to steady her. His thumb locates a ridge on the left side of the material, a concealed zipper. “I can help you. We need to pull your dress up, not down. And I think there’s a zipper, so -”  
  
“Just get it off.” She bursts into tears and leans forward into Mark’s chest, hands clutching at his shoulders. “Get it off, get it off, get it off!” She is yelling now, and her bare feet stomp up and down like that of a child throwing a tantrum. “Mark, get it _off_ me. I don’t w-want to wear the dress anymore.”   
  
“I know, honey. Just try to stay still for a sec,” Mark says, beginning to perspire from the effort of keeping an arm snared around Addison for support, and attempting to work open the hook-and-eye closure over the zipper with uncharacteristically clumsy fingers; Addison’s trembling is making him tremble, too. The air is punctuated with her croaky sobs, and eventually, thankfully, Mark gets the fastener open and teases down the zipper. He is able to coax Addison into raising her arms so he can guide the garment over her head. It sails to the floor, landing in a crumpled heap. It continues to shimmer.  
  
“Thank you.” It feels like such a stupid thing to say right now, though she cannot pinpoint why. Instead, she desperately reaches for Mark’s shoulders again when she feels her knees buckle. “I can’t…” she gasps, certain she can no longer stay on her feet.  
  
“It’s okay,” Mark grabs her under her armpits. “I gotcha, I gotcha.” They sink slowly to the floor, and his support is strong enough to ensure it does not hurt when Addison finds herself kneeling on the hardwood floor. Mark gets himself settled against the end panel first, and then pulls her onto his thighs.  
  
“He’s really not…” she begins woozily. She feels herself being adjusted in Mark’s embrace, tilted more towards his knees, and she doesn’t like it because it’s not comfortable and it feels like he’s shoving her away, but before she can cry out in protest, she is guided back to his chest. This time, she feels Mark wrap his jacket around her bare figure, covering her exposed back and waist. “Oh,” she says quietly.  
  
“Really not what, Addison?” He prompts, holding her as close as he can. The jacket is not enough to keep her warm, but she does not seem strong enough to walk right now, and Mark worries that he might not be able to keep her balanced in his arms if she starts shaking again. Here works for now.  
  
She pulls in an unsteady breath. “He’s really not _alive_ anymore?” And then her sobs increase again, aching and shrill, because she already knows the answer.  
  
Mark hugs her tightly as her tears soak into his shirt collar. Everything is reflective. The mirrored closets on either side of the room are French-styled, and normally Mark likes this because it is nice aesthetically, and if he happens to see his wife getting dressed, it’s essentially free pay-per-view. In this moment though, it is devastating. Whether he glances left or right, in each windowpane all he can see is Addison falling apart in his arms. In every panel, grief is breaking her wide open.   
  
“Hey…hey, look at me,” he says later, not at all clear how much time has passed. He tips Addison’s chin up to meet his gaze. Letting her cry and limiting his words felt like the best course of action for a while because there really isn’t anything he can say to help her in this kind of situation, but now she’s gasping and has reached the point where he knows he has to intervene, not just for her sake. “I need you to _b_ _reathe_ , Addison. I know this hurts, but try to take a few slow breaths, okay? For him.” Mark circles a finger pointedly below her navel. Addison drags in a heavy gulp and nods. The mention of their son floats her back to the surface.  
  
“Addie…” Mark whispers once her breathing has regulated and she has slumped against him, weakened. Again, no concept of time, but it is darker now. Shadows bleed around them. Mark strokes her cheek to get her attention.  
  
“Oh my God…” she says quietly, a weary smile straining at the corners of her mouth. “I’m crying in your arms while I’m wearing…pasties,” she almost giggles. “And nude spanx.”  
  
“It’s truly not the worst look on you. Will you be okay here for a minute while I go grab some pajamas for you though?”  
  
She nods, and this time she does giggle, and Addison knows, she _knows_ any way in which she is choosing to react or not react is fine because no one person’s experience with grief is the same, but it still feels vaguely inappropriate.   
  
“I told you I was going to steal your tux jacket,” Addison says while peeling off the petal pasties so that Mark does not have to do that (not that he would be weird about it given these specific circumstances, but it is just another thing that feels weird to her right now).  
  
Mark returns with a pair of maternity sweats and her favorite Yankees shirt that used to belong to him. He flips on the light and then crouches down by her right side. It takes her a moment to register that the other thing in his hand is a package of makeup wipes he must have grabbed off the bathroom counter on his way back.  
  
“It’s okay,” Mark quickly angles her face back to him when she goes to look towards the set of mirrors his body isn’t blocking. He doesn’t know if gazing into one of the mirrors is going to make things worse for Addison, but he can’t really see how it could help. Her eyes are red-rimmed and puffy from crying, and the residual makeup mixed with dried tears on her cheeks reminds him of dirt and ashes. He uses his free hand to negotiate a wipe out of the package. “I’ll do it.”   
  
“I must look pretty bad if you don’t want me to see my face right now.”  
  
“Nah, it’s about the Yankees shirt. I don’t think I’ve worn this shirt once since you moved in with me, but technically it’s still mine and I don’t want any makeup getting on it,” he says, and she offers him an eyes-closed smile at this obvious lie while he works on cleaning up her face.  
  
Addison swallows. “Things have been so…good lately. I’ve been – well, I know I cried over the schmaltzy art print and then I cried again because you bought a throw pillow for Sprout’s room that says ‘I _whale_ always love you, but…” she lifts a shoulder sadly. “I’ve been in a good head space and surprisingly calm and worry-free. Things have been good.”  
  
“Things will be good again, you’ll see. Just not right now.”   
  
She sighs when Mark goes for a second wipe. “I think I just heard the used wipe you just set aside say ‘yikes.’”  
  
“No, he’s being quiet. He’s just hanging out with the discarded pasties. I didn’t realize…it’s not like I assumed every pair of pasties came with tassels, but I definitely didn’t know they had ones shaped like flowers.”  
  
“Shame we’re not going tonight,” Addison sniffles. “We could have generated some business for you. Everyone knows you’re in Plastics. And I’m pregnant and I already breastfed a kid, so I really shouldn’t be _able_ to wear a dress without a bra and look this, well, perky, regardless of what kind of padding is built into the dress…so you might have gotten to hand out your business card more than once. My breasts are kind of a revelation that way.”  
  
“I have never done anything remotely medical with your breasts, and unless there’s something you’re not telling me, you haven’t had a boob job.”  
  
“True, but no one at the gala would have known that.” Addison blinks when he pulls the wipe away from her face and makes some sort of noise to indicate he has gotten most of her makeup off. “I can stand and get my pajamas on, if you give me a boost.”  
  
Mark nods and helps her to her feet. He hands over the Yankees shirt and sweatpants, and she is able to get into both without a struggle.   
  
“What a sad little pile,” she observes, gesturing to the pasties, blackened makeup wipes, and bunched-up spanx. She glances back at Mark and changes the subject, voice brittle again. “We’d gotten…we’d gotten closer since Kate was born. Something about having a grandchild just…” she inhales shakily. “You know that Dylan Thomas poem?”  
  
“The one about raging against the dying light?”  
  
“Dying of the light,” she gently corrects. “I’m just…I’m just trying to say that you better fucking fight to stay with me if…when…”  
  
“I will. I promise.”   
  
“I promise too. I think I need to lie down now…” she mumbles, reaching for Mark and feeling his arms wrap around her, lifting her up and carrying her back to the bedroom. “Mark?” She tries to fight through the waves of depleting exhaustion. “I wasn’t ready for this.”  
  
“No one ever is, Red.”  
  
\------

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know the death feels unnecessarily harsh, but it is a contributing factor for what happens to Addison later, and stays true to the original fic. Also, as a reminder: this was written before PP, so the names/background on Addison's family members have not been changed to reflect what we now know.


	41. Footfalls

**Chapter 41. Footfalls**  
  
_My dad_. The thought comes to Addison before she is fully awake. Heaviness and disorientation ripple through her, grief and sleep inertia anchored together. Her eyes scan upward to discover Mark seated beside her. She cannot remember how she got from the floor of the dressing room to the bed, but he must have brought her in here.   
  
She makes observations about her husband to distract herself from thinking about everything else. Mark is propped against the headboard, two pillows and a smaller decorative one wedged behind him. One of his hands is holding one of hers. He is no longer wearing his black-tie clothes. He is watching TV, but really, he is probably just waiting for her to wake up.   
  
“Mark?” Addison grimaces in discomfort upon speaking. Her throat feels dry.  
  
“Hey,” he whispers, looking away from a _SportsCenter_ segment he wasn’t truly watching. Addison is looking at him, but her eyes are blinking tiredly. She needs more sleep, but she also needs to stay hydrated, so Mark takes the opportunity to pull her into a sitting position. She yields to his maneuvering, reminding him of Kate’s baby dolls.   
  
“Thank you,” she rasps, taking long gulps from the uncapped water bottle he has handed her. She gives it back when her thirst feels quenched. “How long…how long was I asleep?”  
  
“About two hours.” Mark sets the bottle back on his nightstand and curls his arm around her, drawing her into his side. “I’m sure food is the last thing on your mind, but do you want to try to eat something?”  
  
It definitely is the last thing. Addison’s stomach already hurts as nausea gurgles through her, sorrow ravaging her insides. But at the moment, her body doesn’t just belong to her. “Yeah. Maybe…maybe in a few minutes…” she looks up at him, eyes shiny and vulnerable. “I don’t know what to do now,” she admits.  
  
“You’re just going to take it one step at a time. And you’re going to remember you have a husband, family, and friends who love you and are here for you.”  
  
“When did you become so wise?”  
  
Mark kisses the top of her head. “Probably a side-effect of marrying someone way smarter than me.”  
  
“Do you…do you want to know something funny?” Addison asks. And then she hesitates. “Am I being weird?”  
  
“I’m trying to follow…are those questions tied together or are they separate?”  
  
“Separate.”  
  
“Okay. Then, yes, I want to hear something funny. And no, you’re not being weird, Addison. _Grief_ is weird, not you. Now tell me something funny.”  
  
She nods. “Okay. You mentioned ‘marriage’ and it made me remember, since it’ll be our anniversary in like a month…I went to look up what the traditional fifth year anniversary present is.” She googles this each year and always tells Mark, because it is exactly the kind of thing he finds amusing. “And it’s…” Addison trails off, as _my dad is dead_ snakes its way through her brain again. _I can’t even remember the last thing we talked about. Did I tell him that I loved him before we hung up?_   
  
“Addie?” Mark touches her elbow and she shifts her focus back to him.   
  
“Sorry. It’s _wood_. I’m sure you’re delighted to know that.”  
  
He chuckles in response. “We could have some fun with that one. Or at the very least, I’ll be making a lot of terrible jokes that day.”  
  
“I know you will. And the fact that it’s just conveniently something that could be interpreted as sexual…I almost looked at the history on the Wikipedia page to see if someone named Mark Sloan recently made any edits.”  
  
“Nope. You know I just wait for you to tell me what the traditional gift is. I do remember _moonstone_ though. We looked up the list on our Honeymoon, and we were laughing because I thought you said ‘moon rock’ was the gift for an eighty-fifth wedding anniversary. I can’t forget that one.”  
  
A tear slips down Addison’s cheek. “We’ll never have an eighty-fifth wedding anniversary.”  
  
“Addison…” Mark cradles her closer when she starts to cry, feeling bad that he almost laughed at this observation from her. “Realistically I don’t think _anyone_ has an eighty-fifth anniversary…not anyone born in the last two centuries, at least. But I love you and we’re going to have a lot more anniversaries together, okay?” He runs his hand up and down the ridges of her spine, comforting her as she works through a few more grief-wracked sobs.   
  
“We have to tell Kate about…about…”  
  
“I know.” He has been thinking about that a lot, how to explain this loss and the basic concepts of death to their daughter, and how to help her work through her feelings. Tears filled his eyes at the very thought while his wife slept fitfully next to him. “We’ll tell her tomorrow after we pick her up from Lauren’s.”  
  
“And I’ll call my mom in the morning,” Addison continues. “She’s probably already called my dad’s brother. I’m sure he’ll do the eulogy. And we need to let Savvy and Weiss know and maybe…maybe Derek? Maybe you can let him know? He should probably know. And I know my mother probably won’t want much help with planning the service and everything, but I can still…she’ll probably want to do it before Thanksgiving…am I talking too much?”  
  
Mark shakes his head dutifully. “You’re fine. We’ll make a list of all the things we need to do, Addie.”  
  
“Okay. I think now…I just want to sleep more. Can I eat later? I’m…I’m so tired, Mark…” she feels her head lolling against his chest, exhaustion settling deep in her bones. “Can you…can you just hold me while I sleep?”  
  
“Yeah.” Mark helps her get settled on the pillow again, and then folds an arm over her waist. “Sleep now, food later.”  
  
“I don’t know if you remember…” she mumbles as another unexpected thought comes to her. “The first night I slept over at your apartment…I asked you if you could stay with me and hold me while I slept. And you did.”  
  
“I remember,” he says, a swirl of breath warm against the curve of her neck. “I was sorry for how much pain you were in, but I was hoping you would ask me to stay. And I’m sorry for how much pain you’re in now, too. But just for the record…you’re gonna be okay, Addison. You’ll get through this.” Not _over_ , _past_ , _beyond_. Just through.  
  
Her chin lifts in the tiniest acknowledgement before she tumbles back to sleep.  
  
\------  
  
“How did it go?” Mark asks as Addison comes back into their bedroom after tucking Kate in, and begins the process of getting herself ready for bed (at this point really just changing from one pajama-ish outfit to another pajama-ish outfit). Their daughter is handling grief in a way typical of a five year-old. She will be upset about Grandpa Henry and have questions in one moment, but then resume playing with her Polly Pocket Mega Mall set and pleading for cookies in the next.   
  
Most of her questions come at night though, which leaves it up to Addison. Mark still participates in the bedtime routine, but he has definitely taken a backseat recently, recognizing how much Addison needs this extra time with their daughter. For the first few days following Henry’s death, she would check on Kate multiple times a night, hovering in the doorway long enough to verify the steady movement of her daughter’s chest rising and falling. The dizzying hum of anxiety has continued beyond the first few days, but the nightly checkups have started to drop off, if for no other reason than Addison is just too tired to keep startling awake at all hours. She still stays with Kate until she falls asleep though, more for herself than for her daughter at this point.   
  
“Good. I talked to her a little more again about what the funeral will be like…what she can expect to see and hear. And the, um, ashes part. She had some questions about that. Then she asked when my eyes are ‘going to go back to regular,’” Addison says. She is currently in the bathroom slipping on a robe and nightgown, but leans around the door at the last part so Mark can see her throw bunny ears around her daughter’s words. The area around Addison’s eyes is not as puffy today, but she still has the wan-faced, runny-nosed look of someone who has been crying a lot. “Which is a valid question. Oh, and holiday stuff. Kate asked if she, Emily, and Andrew can each have their own pumpkin pies for Thanksgiving. Because, you know…” she grins and comes back into the bedroom. “Priorities.”  
  
Mark laughs, stretching his legs out and patting the bed, indicating that a shoulder rub is available for her if she wants. Addison eases herself onto the bed and scoots into the open "v" of space, returning Mark’s smile with a grateful one of her own. It hasn’t reached _days_ yet; it’s more like good hours and bad hours and okay hours. There have been longer stretches of “okay” lately, but the next few days will be hard, so anything that can help her relax and maybe fall asleep a bit easier is appreciated. They leave tomorrow morning for Greenwich. The funeral service is on Friday.  
  
“I like her food priorities,” Mark says, maneuvering his hands under her floral robe and whatever maternity top is underneath the robe in order to massage her shoulders. He did this last night too, and he feels a little sad at how hard and knotted her trapezius muscle still feels. “Hey, about next Thursday…did you want me to get anything ahead of time? Pie is a given, but if you just want to do takeout and have it be the three of us…” Mark pauses to let her process the rest. Ever since Kate and the twins were born, they have spent each Thanksgiving as a “god-family,” alternating years hosting. It’s easy and fun, and the logistics aren’t emotional, at least. Christmas, he knows, will be rough; they always drive up to Greenwich on the twenty-sixth and spend a few days with Addison’s parents.  
  
“It’s okay. We can do the usual. I want to keep things consistent for Kate. At least it’s Sav and Weiss’s turn to host. We should probably bring a more-expensive-than-usual bottle of wine though. Both for them hosting, and for just…being them.” Not that Addison expected anything less, but her friends really have gone above and beyond recently to check up on her and offer to help keep her kid entertained. _And_ , she contemplates while sinking a little lower in Mark’s embrace, _Savvy knows what it’s like to lose a parent this time of year_.  
  
Mark wraps his arms around her stomach. She’s quiet now. Her neck and shoulders are still stiff, but she feels almost peaceful in his arms as she rests against his chest. She takes one of his hands, and gently holds it for a few minutes, before easing it between her legs. It takes Mark by surprise. He hadn’t really made the connection earlier while working on her shoulders, but the robe Addison is wearing is a slightly more attractive, suggestive choice than the uniform of baggy comfort-wear she has been embracing lately. And when she uses her other hand to pull open her robe, he notices that what he assumed was some sort of short pajama set is actually a silky nightgown with lace trim. And she’s not wearing anything under the nightgown. Addison fights back a sneaky giggle when he discovers this.   
  
Mark lingers over her longer than he means to, so it is her turn to be surprised when he rotates his hand to the outside of her thigh. “Addison,” he says hesitantly. She makes some sort of eight days joke that he only half-hears. She leans to the side so she can tilt her head up towards him. She finds his hand again, and stubbornly presses the smooth pads of his fingers back against her.   
  
“I want you, Mark. Don’t you want me?” Her voice is husky, and her mouth is as warm as her words when she runs her tongue along the bottom of his chin and jawline. Yes, this is a distraction, an attempt to heal what feels so broken, a non-green-juice-way to numb the pain and feel good, but there is something more to it too. Addison desires this connection again. “It’s not escapism. I _want_ this, Mark. I…I want you. So please want me back,” her lower lip trembles over the last sentence.   
  
Mark angles his head down and kisses her softly, reassuringly. The hand of his that was spanning her hip joins the hand she was so insistent with, and though he is not touching exactly where she wants or moving his fingers inside her yet, his hands are soothing over her thighs and stomach with clear intentions. Addison sighs happily, and Mark continues to give her the attention she is craving. He knows what she is like when she is hurting as much as he knows what she is like when she _isn’t_ hurting, and grief is a harder area to read and define with her – it is messy and gray and sometimes full of contradictions and Stepford-ish mannerisms. There is certainly _some_ desire for escapism on her part, and he understands that. But she is weightless in his arms right now, breathing heavier, warm and slick with need. And this is real, she is real, they’re real and they’re here, so Mark deepens their kiss and parts her lips with his tongue. His hand drifts back down to tease her, and she arches hard against his fingers when he strokes her.  
  
“Easy,” he whispers against her mouth, concealing a chuckle. He keeps his hand where she needs it though. “I always want you. Let’s go slow though, okay? I love you, Addison.”  
  
“I love you, too…” she whispers with a satisfied sigh, relaxing in his arms as his fingers begin to relax the tension between her legs.  
  
\------  
  
“Mommy said she will be down in _one_ minute,” Kate announces as she comes into the kitchen, moving a little slower than usual (walking rather than running) because of the box she is holding. “I want to put a rock from outside in my box,” she adds when her father turns to face her. Mommy and Daddy gave her a “Memory Box” yesterday, and Mommy helped her put a few pictures of Kate and Grandpa Henry in it.  
  
“Okay,” Mark takes the box from her hands and sets it on the kitchen island. “Why don’t you sit down and eat your breakfast first…then you can go and pick out a rock.” He pushes a bowl of Cap’n Crunch Crunch Berries towards her. He does not question why an unidentified rock reminds Kate of her grandpa.  
  
“Mommy!” Kate calls out when Addison comes into the kitchen, freshly showered and wearing a loose-fitting sweater and slacks. “You’re wearing pants that are not jammies.”  
  
“Yes, I’m wearing fancy grownup pants today. And you…” Addison manages to keep the smile on her face when she spies the faux fur gold glitter boots her daughter is currently wearing. “You are wearing fancy shoes.”  
  
“Can I wear these instead of my black ones?” Kate asks. She talked her dad into buying these shoes for her a few weeks ago. She loves how sparkly they are and she loves the furry trim on both sides, but she loves them mainly because of the _extra_ -special feature: whenever she runs or stomps her feet, the soles of the shoes flash in colorful lights just like a Christmas tree. Kate loves them _so_ much, but her school has a rule against light-up shoes, so she does not get to wear them often. This week is different though; she is missing school today, tomorrow, and Friday since she will be in Connecticut, which means she can wear these.  
  
“Yes, that’s fine.” Addison says. She hates the light-up feature and the cheap sequins on the boots tremendously, but she can appreciate why a five-year-old would love them and would not find them tacky. “But…your black boots are still in your suitcase, right? For Grandpa’s funeral you need to wear the black ones.”   
  
Kate frowns. “But you said I could wear these ones.”  
  
“You can, but you can’t wear them to the funeral.”  
  
“Why?”  
  
“Because I said so,” Addison draws in a sharp breath. She does not have the patience or energy for this. Not right now. And she _knows_ it is a silly battle to pick (and she has a strong-willed child, so there are lots of battles to choose from) because what does funeral footwear ultimately matter, especially when the wearer is a child, but she cannot help it.   
  
Kate’s frown transitions into an accusatory glare. “You are being _mean_.”  
  
Addison glances at Mark and shakes her head, giving him a look that plainly reads, _I need you to handle this because I can’t right now_. She walks over to the other side of the island, facing away from them both as she works on taking a few calming breaths. _My dad is dead_ , she thinks, eyes filling with tears. _All I am asking is for you not to wear the ugliest fucking shoes I have ever seen._  
  
“Kate, don’t be rude.” Mark sets his elbows down on the island and leans forward so he is eye-level with his daughter. She quickly looks away, which surprises him; usually when she is angry with either parent, she will maintain eye contact, sort of like a challenge. “Your mom is telling you to wear the black shoes to Grandpa Henry’s funeral, and now I’m telling you, too. You can wear the glittery ones today and tomorrow, but not Friday, okay?” He lightly pokes her shoulder when she does not acknowledge him.  
  
“Daddy?” Kate looks at him now, blue eyes bright and wet. Her voice is delicate when she speaks. “I don’t want you to die. Or Mommy.” (Admittedly, the “Mommy” part is said as an afterthought this time, because she is not too happy with her right now.)  
  
“Buddy…” Mark sighs, reaching out to squeeze her hands. He can hear Addison’s shaky breath from the other side of the island. It is not the first time they have had this discussion with Kate recently, and he knows it will not be the last. Each time sucks though. And doing it without Addison fully present sucks worse.   
  
“You said everybody’s bodies stop working one day and then you die. And then when you die…I won’t see you anymore.”  
  
“Remember where Grandpa Henry is right now?”  
  
“In the stars,” Kate answers. This is her personal belief. Mark and Addison approached the first conversation about “What happens after…” as openly as they could, trying not to steer their daughter in any specific direction, especially since between the two of them, they don’t really have a specific direction themselves. And this is where Kate landed. Sometimes you are a star, and sometimes you live inside a star. And it’s not scary and it doesn’t hurt.  
  
“And where else did we talk about?” Mark taps a finger below her collarbone.   
  
“In my heart?”  
  
“That’s right. And I’ll be in those places for you too. If it’s just a memory, you can keep it in your heart, but if it’s something you can touch and it’s small enough, you can put it in your special box. But I’m _not_ going to die right now, Kate. Not when you’re little. I will die when I’m very, very old. And that’s not anytime soon, okay? Same with Mommy. Not for a very long time. Mommy and I both take good care of ourselves, so you can expect us to be with you for a long time. I don’t want you to be worried or scared about that. I’m not going anywhere yet.”  
  
“Okay,” Kate replies simply, apparently satisfied with this answer for now.  
  
“Kate,” Addison says. She turns back around, wiping at her eyes. She waves the white flag on this battle. “You can wear your light-up boots to the funeral. Your grandpa would want you to wear whatever makes you happiest. I’m sorry for getting mad – you weren’t being rude. I was.” She walks back over and once she had determined that her daughter’s body language is indicating no signs of protest, Addison wraps her arms around her. She feels Kate squeeze her back. “Sorry, little one.”  
  
“It’s okay, Mommy,” Kate says into her shoulder. “You are not mean. I know you are sad because you miss Grandpa. And I know you are also sad because don’t have any shoes that make lights when you walk.”  
  
Addison smiles into her daughter’s hair. “Yes. Exactly that.”  
  
\------  
  
“Mom…” Addison breathes out gently, watching as Kate sets her box down on the coffee table and follows Mark outside to play catch, glove in hand. “If Kate put anything in there that you actually want back…” she joins her mother on the sofa.  
  
Isabelle Montgomery waves a hand of dismissal. “It’s not that big of a box, darling. I don’t think she’ll be absconding with the paintings and crystal vases.”  
  
Addison nudges her shoulder. “I was thinking more along the line of things that might have _sentimental_ value.”   
  
“She just took a few pictures of Henry when he was a young boy, and a pair of his cufflinks.” Isabelle sighs wistfully. “Kate is such a lovely girl, Addison. I know I wasn’t always the best mother to you, but -”  
  
“You’re a wonderful ‘Bebe’ to Kate. She loves you much. And you were – are – a good mother to me,” Addison gives her mother a tight hug. Physical affection has never really been their “thing,” but grandbabies and grief change a lot of things. “And thank you. I agree Kate is a lovely girl…aside from questionable taste in shoes at times.”  
  
Isabelle smirks. “Your father would have gotten such a kick out of those though. He adored her, you know. And he adored you too.”  
  
“Will you be okay here by yourself, Mom?” Today will be their second night staying over at Addison’s childhood home, but they are planning to head back to New York tomorrow after the funeral reception.   
  
“I will _eventually_ be okay here. I have friends, DAR and board meetings, gallery things, things at the clubhouse…and I have my daughter and her family not too far away if I ever need to get out of Greenwich for a few days. I bet I have more of a social life than you do, actually.”  
  
Addison laughs. “I don’t doubt that for a second.”  
  
“I got a really nice email from your ex-husband a few days ago, by the way. Expressing his condolences.”  
  
“Yeah, Mark let him know. He emailed me as well.”  
  
“He was always a very nice man.” Isabelle glances out the window, where Mark and Kate have given up on baseball and are playing some sort of game of chase. Mark catches Kate around the waist, hoisting her over one of his shoulders and making her squeal in delight. “But he’s not _that_ man. No matter how inappropriate it was when things between you two started…”  
  
Addison smiles. “You’re never really going to let me live that down, are you?”  
  
“Absolutely not.”  
  
\------  
  
“Does it get easier?” Addison weeps into her best friend’s shoulder when they are standing outside after the service has ended. The church has a small playground next to it, and since the weather is not too frigid at the moment and the reports of projected snowfall are ringing false, they are letting Kate, Emily, and Andrew get some energy and wiggles out before they walk up the street to a banquet hall for the funeral reception. All three children shriek at various volumes when Mark and Weiss get the Merry-Go-Round started for them.   
  
“God, don’t look at the playground right now,” Savvy holds Addison tighter when she starts to lift her head up. “You’ll seriously barf if you see how fast they’re spinning. But to answer your question: it gets…it gets more _bearable_. That’s what I can tell you. There are peaks and valleys, and you just keep living with it and through it, Addie. At some point, the hurt won’t be as strong though. Hey…” she pulls back and gives her friend a warm smile. “Do you want us to take Kate back with us after the reception? She could spend the night.”  
  
“You want to take my kid out of the house so I can have grief sex with my husband?”  
  
“I’m sure you manage just fine having sex while she’s _in_ the house, grief or otherwise…I didn’t mean specifically for that. I meant just taking her so you guys can have a _break_. Five year-olds are exhausting, and you’re also housing a human right now. How you want to spend that time apart is not necessarily something I need to know about, but if you want to spend it having steamy grief sex with your husband, I support that. That’s actually kind of a common response to losing someone. Get after that dopamine, girl.”  
  
“Didn’t _you_ have lots of grief sex?” Addison rubs at her eyes. “It feels like a very Savvy thing to do.”  
  
“Ah, but you’re forgetting that my mom died not too long after you and Mark operated on me, so I was stuck in can’t-have-sex-yet land. Try losing a parent while going through _that_.”  
  
“Today is about me, not you,” Addison manages to joke, and Savvy laughs. “But yeah, if you do take Kate for the night, in between crying that’s probably exactly what will happen because I’m feeling really…like…you know…”  
  
“Oh, you’re being _so_ Connecticut right now. Just say ‘horny’ or ‘aroused,’ Addison.”  
  
\------  
  
“The irony of having sex in Connecticut,” Addison pecks lightly at Mark’s lower lip. Savvy and Weiss had taken Kate back to Manhattan with them, and although the drive back wouldn’t be long, Addison and Mark ended up getting a room at a nearby hotel. It just seemed easier.   
  
Mark grins and laughs, but continues stroking her hair. He is patient. There is more to come. She made it tear-free through the back half of the reception, their quiet dinner at the hotel, and everything that followed dinner (a lot of physical activity followed), but collapse just feels inevitable.  
  
“Today was so _hard_ ,” she finally whimpers, burying her face in his chest.  
  
“I know,” he murmurs, hugging her tighter. “But you got through it,” he adds when her sobs begin to diminish.   
  
“I got through it,” she repeats, thinly smiling her appreciation when his thumbs dab at her lingering tears. “I survived it. Because we…you and I. We survive everything.”  
  
“Yeah, we do. Hey, Addison? I was thinking about…what if we named him Henry?” Mark asks, moving his hand down to rest on her stomach. “I know David is the current front-runner, but I don’t think we’re entirely sold on that one.”  
  
Addison considers this. It has definitely crossed her mind recently, but she wasn’t sure if or when she would bring it up. “I do really love the name Henry,” she admits. “It’s good. Strong. Ages well. You’re okay with that though? I don’t want you to feel like we have to honor my dad.”  
  
“More than okay. Henry Sloan. I like it. And Kate and Henry sound good together.”  
  
“I think so, too. And what about Everett as his middle name?”   
  
Mark tries not to frown at her suggestion. “We don’t need to include my dad in the naming process. I mean, your dad might have been a quintessential WASP kind of dad in some ways while you were growing up, but he was a good man and he loved you deeply. My dad wasn’t…isn’t really that way.”  
  
“Mark, I was thinking Everett for _you_ ,” she replies, voice so soft and sweet that Mark smiles, and he wonders how and why that wasn’t his first thought. Addison cups his cheek in her hand, warmth radiating from her palm. “Your son could share a middle name with you, if you want. Whatever your dad might be…that’s not the kind of man you are. I know I’ve made a lot of jabs about a Mark Junior, but I’d love for our son to share something special with you, and I just like the sound of Henry Everett more than Henry Mark. If you’re not comfortable with it though -”   
  
“No, I am. I…I like it. Henry. Henry Everett,” Mark says, rubbing circles on her stomach. He glances up when Addison removes her hand from his face and props up on an elbow distractedly, eyes looking past him and out the window. “You okay, Red?”  
  
She nods, leaning into his knuckles when he strokes her cheek to get her attention. “Yeah, I just…look, Mark. I think it’s snowing.”  
  
Mark follows her gaze, taking in the first snowfall of the season. When he looks back at Addison, her smile has reached her eyes. It feels dreamlike. “It’s snowing,” he murmurs, cradling the back of her head and pulling her in for a kiss.  
  
\------


	42. You’ll See the Dawn Again

**Chapter 42. You’ll See the Dawn Again**  
  
“Jesus…” Addison sweeps a hand underneath the bubbly surface of her bathwater, and finds the culprit that was digging into the soft flesh behind her hipbone. She holds up a rubbery seahorse figure for her husband, who is brushing his teeth nearby at the bathroom sink. “I need to start sticking our kid in her own tub again,” she adds with a grin and a quiet laugh. “An extra flight of stairs to get to the third floor is worth being out of breath. Better than taking a toy in the ass, at least. I know, I know, I heard it – shut up. Don’t say anything.”  
  
Mark cannot resist smirking, but he gives her a dutiful thumbs-up and continues brushing his teeth without comment.  
  
Addison sets the seahorse down outside the alcove tub. It was mostly her fault for not checking properly before she poured in the bubbles, anyway. If nothing else though, it produced a smile and a laugh, which is good. Which is progress. It has been almost a month now. She is living and existing with the loss. She carries it everywhere, and it _hurts_ , but there have been more moments of happiness lately, and sometimes the grief feels softer, somehow.  
  
“I can’t wait until I’m not pregnant and I can take a _long_ bath again. A _hot_ bath. Except…” Addison glances at Mark once more, who meets her eyes in the bathroom mirror. Surely, he knows where she is going with this thought. “Not being pregnant means I’ll have a newborn, so a long, hot bath probably won’t be an option.”  
  
“Well…” Mark begins after he has spit and rinsed. “You’ve got a husband who is available to help, so you can definitely take a long, hot bath when Kid One is asleep and Kid Two isn’t hanging off your boob.”  
  
“You always paint such beautiful imagery of our life together.”   
  
“I try.” He sets his toothbrush down and turns to face her. “Hey, Addison? Our anniversary is in a few days.”  
  
“Fuck,” Addison responds softly. She sinks a little lower in the bubbles.  
  
Mark shows her a teasing smile. “Yeah, I’m hoping so.”  
  
“I just…” she does the math in her head. December eighth is next Monday. Five more days. “I knew it was in a couple days, but I also _didn’t_ know, I guess. Pregnancy Brain and Grieving Brain. Oh, and being back at work trying to cram in as many consults and surgical-related things as I can into the next two weeks before I go on leave.”   
  
“We don’t have to do anything if you don’t want. I, uh, I wanted you to know though that I reserved a room at the Athénée for Friday and Saturday. I booked it a few weeks ago…” Mark’s voice fades away, and she fills in the unspoken words, tightening a fist around the porcelain rim of the tub. _Before. Before your dad died._ “Anyway. Sav and Weiss are still available to take Kate Friday afternoon through Sunday morning, but only if you want. We really don’t have to do anything.”  
  
Addison smiles at the mention of the hotel where they got married. “No, that – that sounds really nice, Mark. We haven’t been back there since our wedding. Thank you, for thinking of that. Did, um. Did you get me anything yet? And if yes, are you planning on giving it to me over the weekend or on our actual anniversary?”  
  
“I feel like I’m not supposed to tell you that.” Mark sits down on the accent stool near the tub. She looks up at him, eyes becoming sad. Sadder, actually. They are looking more blue lately, Mark thinks – he has always felt that Addison’s eyes appear greener both during and after she has cried – but, understandably, nothing since early November has been easy.   
  
“I’m just trying to gauge how bad I should feel for basically forgetting about our anniversary,” she tells him. “Which also means forgetting to get you anything. And it’s already Wednesday and we have that thing at Kate’s school tomorrow night, so if you were planning to give me something on Friday then -”   
  
“You shouldn’t feel _any_ level of bad. And you definitely don’t have to get me anything.” Mark swipes his thumb along her collarbone, easing away some of the bubbles clinging to her skin.  
  
“Remember when you used to never remember birthdays and things like that? One year you were genuinely surprised when Derek and I invited you over for Thanksgiving…because apparently you forgot about it.” She manages a weak grin. “I’m feeling a bit nostalgic for that at the moment.”  
  
“That was before we were a couple and had a kid together.” He squeezes her shoulder, fingers slipping against her damp skin. “Ad? Can I say something sappy?”  
  
“Always.”  
  
“It’s been a really, really hard few weeks for you. And I’m sure you’d like nothing more than to just sleep and have no responsibilities and sit in the pain, but instead you’ve got a kindergartner, a fetus, and a pain-in-the-ass husband…and you’re going to work and you’re trying to smile and you’re hanging in there. So you don’t need to get me anything. I really just want to spend time with you, especially with the holidays coming up and everything…it’s kind of like our last chance for a getaway before it’s two against two in the house. But I would also understand if you just want to go to the hotel by _yourself_ for the weekend, and that’s fine, too.”  
  
Addison giggles at the last part, and blinks away lingering tears. “Tempting, but I’d like to spend time with you, too. Fair warning though: I can’t even promise anniversary sex at this point. My lungs are overcrowded and my uterus has really stepped up its Braxton Hicks game lately.”  
  
“That’s okay…” Mark helps her to her feet when she makes a motion for some assistance to get out of the tub. He hands Addison the fluffy robe she left nearby. “We’ll have a good time even if you don’t want my anniversary wood.”  
  
She leans into his embrace, laughing again. “You’re an idiot.”  
  
\------  
  
“You can turn the volume up if you want…” Addison mumbles. Something on ESPN flickers in the background on the hotel flat screen, but she is much too tired to do anything other than rest her head on her husband’s chest, angled slightly sideways in the bed to accommodate the baby bump between them. “It won’t prevent me from falling asleep. What a hot date I am. I’m going to pass out before nine-thirty on a Friday night.”  
  
Mark chuckles. “You say that like I won’t fall asleep like five minutes after you. I can’t hang either anymore. I hope your belief that Henry is going to be a mellow little dude is still holding true. The newborn stage in _general_ is exhausting, but remember how rough weeks two and three were when Kate was so colicky? I was thinking about that today.”  
  
“I will have you know I have gone a full twenty-four hours without crying. Don’t make me break my streak by thinking about that.”  
  
“Okay, deal. But hey, in defense of our tired asses, we _did_ have a busy evening. We got a lot of Christmas shopping done and –”  
  
“Don’t bother with excuses,” Addison interrupts with a giggle. “We’re just not cool anymore.”  
  
“Some would argue – Savvy, for instance – that I wasn’t cool to begin with.”  
  
“That’s true. I got you something, by the way.”  
  
“While we were out shopping?” He asks. “How did you manage that? We were together like the whole time.”  
  
“No, I mean for our anniversary. I ordered it last night, but it probably won’t get here until next week. I’m telling you what it is now though, to lessen my guilt…” Addison rolls her eyes when she feels him inhale in order to speak. “And yes, I know I didn’t have to get you anything. Anyway, it’s a personalized whiskey set. You know, glasses, a decanter, whiskey stones. It comes in an engraved wooden box, so I even nailed the wood part. It has your last name on it, so you can even re-gift it to one of the kids when they’re all grown up.”  
  
“Thank you,” he smiles and kisses the top of her head. “I love it. Or I will love it. But you’re definitely threatening to break _my_ cry streak by alluding to our kids drinking one day. Like, the idea that Kate – and Henry, I guess, but mostly I’m stuck on the Kate part – will drink alcohol scares the hell out of me. And why do I feel like she’ll be able to drink scotch like a champ?”   
  
Addison laughs. “Because she has our genes. You’ve got a lot more years before you need to worry about her sneaking booze though. And I doubt expensive scotch is going to be what she and her friends will want to try when they give alcohol a go for the first time.”  
  
“I guess so. Hey,” he nudges her shoulder. “Five years. Well, five years and some change, technically.”  
  
“Five years and some change,” she repeats. “You and me. Who would have thought?”  
  
“Before we were together? Absolutely no one. Present company included.”  
  
“It would have been kind of a hard thing to visualize all those years ago,” she admits. “I’m glad we found each other though, Mark. I mean, I know you were there and I was there the whole time, but it was still…it was still kind of like being lost and finding each other, right?”  
  
He smiles and hugs her tighter. “Right.”  
  
\------   
  
When Addison opens her eyes, she fuzzily decides that she cannot remember the last time she has woken up _not_ tired. Restless slumbers brought on by heartache is a contributing factor, but the physical aches and pains of being thirty-two weeks pregnant is probably the more potent reason now. The space beside her is empty, and the sound of water echoing off tiles confirms Mark is in the shower. She rolls over to look at the bedside clock – 9:07 is her guess. She feels a sliver of disappointment when 9:24 blinks back at her (usually her morning time predictions are off by five to seven minutes at the most), but the disappointment quickly shifts to intrigue when she finds a note from Mark on top of a wooden jewelry box with a hand-carved floral design.  
 _Addison – not five questions, but five things for our fifth anniversary. Kate wrote the numbers, FYI._  
  
 _Gift #1, as you can see, is a wooden jewelry box. Kate helped me pick it out. Conveniently, if you don’t have room for it in our bedroom, Kate said she would be happy to keep it in her room for you. I think we both know that her offer is not entirely a selfless one. Gifts 2 - 5 are inside the box._  
  
Addison takes the box into her hands and carefully opens it, revealing a cardboard jewelry box, a piece of paper folded in quarters, and some sort of card sleeve, each item with a corresponding number. She smiles, because she can definitely tell her daughter wrote the numbers. Kate recently asked why there are cursive letters, but not cursive _numbers_ , to which her parents had no answer. They have been firm with her about being sure to write numbers the “regular way” at school, but outside the classroom, any numbers Kate writes end up having little swirls and loops at the end of their lines.  
  
She opens the small box labeled with a _2_ to find a dainty necklace with a garnet stone, and a note from Mark folded impossibly small behind the necklace. _Garnet is the birthstone for January. It’s meant to match the diamond one I gave you after Kate was born, but the chain is a little longer, so you can wear them both at the same time if you want. I know I’m gambling on this one since Henry’s due date is the 28th, but I’m a risk-taker. And if I’m wrong, you’ll get some amethyst jewelry at a later date._  
  
Addison then unfolds the paper with a purple-marker _3_ to find a printed photo of an ocean-themed milestone blanket, and a note from Mark beneath the picture _. #3. Monthly milestone blanket I ordered for Henry. Kate helped me pick this one. We did this monthly picture thing with Kate too, and she felt very strongly that Henry should have his own blanket for this rather than reuse hers (again, the pretend selflessness). Also, I didn’t write a note for gifts 4 and 5, because it didn’t feel like they require an explanation._  
  
She ultimately agrees that gifts four and five, though wonderful, are pretty self-explanatory. The fourth gift is a gold bar bracelet engraved with _♥ Kate ♥ Henry ♥_ on it. Her stupid pregnancy hormones create tension in the back of her throat as she attempts to ward off tears. And then she slips an appointment card out of the card holder for gift #5 to discover she has a prenatal massage scheduled for this afternoon at the hotel spa, and this _definitely_ leads to a few tears, because honestly nothing sounds more amazing than a massage right now.  
  
“Hey,” Mark greets a few minutes later when he comes out of the bathroom. Addison’s watery eyes are gone by this point, and all that is left is a happy smile that she flashes in his direction.  
  
“Hey,” she replies. “I opened my gifts. You’re a really good husband, you know. And right now I’m feeling good and if I’m _still_ feeling good after my massage, I’ll show you how appreciative I am.”  
  
“In a wood sort of way?”  
  
“In a wood sort of way.”  
  
\------  
  
Addison feels grateful that she started her maternity leave the same day Kate starts her winter break. She is very much looking forward to the extra time with her daughter, those last tender moments of just _them_ , just mother and daughter, before they become a family of four in the New Year.   
  
The last five years with Kate have been more beautiful and magical than Addison could have ever thought possible, but at the moment, she would love this time together a _bit_ more if Kate’s main idea of fun on the first morning of winter break did not include playing in the snow (something Addison would normally love, but trying to assist in building a backyard snowman at thirty-four weeks is no easy feat). Luckily, Kate’s interest in snowman-building, snow angels, throwing snowballs at the fence, and “coloring” the snow (spray bottles and food coloring) does not extend beyond an hour.  
  
“Thank you.” Kate smiles cheerfully when Addison sets down a hot chocolate for each of them on the coffee table, with loads of whipped cream (the can of whipped cream bottle is also brought to the table for refill purposes). Addison watches as her daughter goes back to coloring, because Kate knows (and has learned the hard way more than once) that she has to wait a bit before taking her first sip, or she will burn her tongue.  
  
“Mommy?” Kate says. “Can I tell you a secret?”  
  
“Yes.” Addison smiles, thoroughly amused (but not surprised) that Kate wants to say it into her ear, even though it is just the two of them at home. She pats the cushion beside her when Kate wanders over to the sofa.  
  
“You’re my best friend,” Kate whispers, cupping her hand around Addison’s ear as she shares these sweet words.  
  
“Oh, Kate.” Addison adjusts her daughter in her arms, easing her into her lap for a warm hug. “You’re my best friend too, sweet girl.”   
  
Kate reaches a hand to her mother’s face. Her fingers touch a shiny teardrop. “Mommy, why are you crying? Are you sad again?”  
  
“No,” Addison says quickly. She offers a smile to reassure her daughter. Hormones are just the worst. “These are happy tears. Sometimes people cry happy tears. Especially mommies who have really great daughters.”  
  
“Oh. Mommy?” Kate rests a hand on her stomach. “Can we still be best friends when Hen-Hen comes?” _Hen-Hen_. They told Kate their plans to name the baby Henry. It has sparked in Kate the desire to refer to him not just as Henry and Baby Henry, but by a variety of nicknames she has thought up as well. _Hen-Hen. Hen. Hens. Henny. Hennybear_. _Chicken Nugget Hen_. Addison cannot imagine that an older Henry will like any of these names.  
  
“Of course we can. We will be.” She watches her daughter’s eyes drift to the waiting hot chocolate, likely cool enough by now, and loosens her arms so Kate can crawl out of her lap.   
  
Addison doesn’t doubt her daughter’s sincerity in proclaiming her mother her best friend (even though Kate’s number one best friend can change on a dime at this age), but she knows this secret was shared in part because of this exact concern, even if it is more of a subconscious one on Kate’s part.   
  
“Hey, Kate,” she adds. “I know things will be a little different when Henry comes because babies need a lot of attention, especially at first, but I promise you and I will still be besties, and we will still get to do special things just the two of us. And I’ll love you as much as I love you right now. When you’re a parent, your heart sort of _grows_ when you have another baby…so I will love you and Henry the exact same. And you’re going to be such a great big sister. I can’t wait for you to meet Henry and play with him and help me take care of him.”  
  
Kate smiles, using the back of her hand to smudge off a spot of whipped cream on the tip of her nose. “Do I have to change poop diapers?”  
  
“Nope,” Addison laughs. “You don’t even have to change pee diapers if you don’t want.”   
  
“I don’t really want to,” Kate says. She pauses, and then a sneaky grin crosses over her face. “Mommy? We should make Daddy change _all_ the diapers.”   
  
“I like that idea. Remember to tell him that at dinner tonight.”   
  
\------


	43. Once in a Lullaby

**Chapter 43. Once in a Lullaby**  
  
Addison quietly slips into Kate’s room on an early morning towards the end of January, having to pause just past the threshold as a contraction rolls through her. Once the discomfort has retreated, she continues the rest of the way and gets into Kate’s bed. Slowly, in an attempt not to wake her daughter, and slowly because at a few days shy of forty weeks, _everything_ about her is slow now. Despite her best efforts, Kate stirs anyway.  
  
“Mommy,” Kate blinks drowsily. “Is it time to wake up?”  
  
“No, little one. It’s morning, but still early. Remember you don’t have school again today since it’s a Professional Development Day? You can keep sleeping. Is it okay if I cuddle with you for a little bit though?” She loops an arm over her daughter (a bit awkwardly due to the baby bump between them), knowing her daughter won’t object. _Thank you, Henry_ , she thinks. _If it couldn’t happen on a weekend, this is the next best thing._  
  
“Yeah,” Kate answers happily. She thinks about asking what Professional Development means again, but she remembers the answer Mommy gave her yesterday was super boring. Something about teachers getting to learn stuff. The most important part is that she has Monday and Tuesday off this week. _And_ that she gets to have a mommy-daughter sleepover right now. “But can you do the hair thing?”  
  
_The hair thing_. Addison smiles and strokes Kate’s hair. She catalogues some of the things she knows and loves about her daughter. Kate likes to get her hair stroked and her scalp scratched, especially at bedtime. She has always wanted a sibling, but she might want a dog just a bit more. She will eat purple Skittles, but they are her least favorite of all the flavors. She loves reading, and is getting better at it every day. She is a scrappy second baseman and, like Addison predicted before Kate was even here, her baseball pants get dirty about a half-second after she puts them on. She is kind and is a good friend. Kate isn’t necessarily defiant (she has her moments though, of course), but she is stubborn, _so_ frustratingly stubborn – but Addison never doubts for a moment that this stubbornness ensures her daughter will always stand strong behind her convictions and make her voice heard. And while her time as Addison and Mark’s _only_ has just about reached its end, Kate will always be the reason they became a forever kind of Them.  
  
“I love you, Kate,” she whispers, watching her daughter’s eyes flutter tiredly.  
  
Kate’s voice comes through once more, both lilting and raspy in sound, before she falls back to sleep. “I love you too, Mommy.”  
  
\------  
  
“You doing okay?” Mark asks, slowly waking up when he hears Addison walk back (waddle, really) into their bedroom. She has a freshly-showered appearance, but he would have heard the shower running if she was in the master, so he assumes she utilized the bathroom on the third floor. She is restless and gets up constantly throughout the night now for a multitude of reasons that end in _pain_ or _ache_ : pelvic, back, head, nerve. And although Mark would never, _ever_ complain (at least not out loud), it certainly affects his ability to get a good night’s sleep too. Addison has a shred of sympathy about this, so if she is up before him to start her day, sometimes she will go to extra lengths to keep the noise down.  
  
“Yeah,” she sits down on the edge of the bed. “I was getting in a little extra snuggle time with Kate before I showered. She’s still sleeping. And now I’m thinking about that old nursery rhyme that says what each child’s personality is based on the day they’re born. It’s called ‘Monday’s Child.’ The first line is about Monday’s child being ‘fair of face.’ Kate was born on a Monday. And today is a Tuesday, so according to the rhyme, Henry will be ‘full of grace.’” Mark is still a bit sleepy, so it takes him a few seconds. Addison remains patient. And then he grins and pushes up onto his elbows.  
  
“Wait. For real?”  
  
“Yes,” she answers with a warm smile. It is four days before Henry’s due date. Just as Addison had a feeling Kate would go past her due date, she had a feeling this little man would be making an appearance before the twenty-eighth.   
  
“Did -”  
  
“Trust me: I’m in labor, Mark,” she says, voice taking on a quality he knows all too well. “And if you’re going to ask me a question about my body that you know is going to weird me out or gross me out – or most likely _both_ with you – please don’t.”  
  
He gives her a teasing look. “Then what the hell are we supposed to talk about?”  
  
“You _could_ just be quiet while I work through these contractions.”  
  
“Not happening.”  
  
“I figured as much. All you need to know is that we’ll head to the hospital later this morning. It’s all worked out. Lauren will be over around ten to hang with Kate…” she notices the look on his face. “I _promise_ I’ll text her again if I feel like I need her to come sooner. Then Sav will come around five-thirty to get Kate. She’ll sleep over there, and then Sav will bring her to the hospital tomorrow after school to meet her brother. Oh, and I texted Maggie, of course. She’ll be ready for us.”  
  
“Damn. Did you leave anything for _me_ to do?”  
  
“You can wake sleepyhead up if she’s not out of bed in an hour. And when it’s time to leave you can bring my hospital bag out to the car. Otherwise, I’d advise that you shower and eat something. I already shot gunned some toast and fruit in preparation for not eating once we get checked in.”  
  
“That’s seriously _it_?”  
  
Addison flashes a grin and gets into bed next to him. “You can cuddle with your wife for a few minutes.”  
  
“Now we’re talking,” he murmurs, pulling her back into his arms. “Hi.”  
  
“Hi, you big sap,” she says softly. “We’re going to meet our son today.”  
  
“We are. Therefore I’m allowed to be a bit sappy today.”  
  
\------  
  
“I’m…I’m so tired,” Addison mumbles. Time has started to bleed together. It wasn’t dark out. And now it is. The idea of pushing just doesn’t seem possible. She is tired. _So_ tired. The extent of her tiredness is best reflected in the fact that she is too tired to even get mad or yell at her husband anymore. She tries to get a look at the graph paper pinched in her OB’s fingers. “Maggie? His heart rate…?”  
  
“Still dipping in between contractions,” Maggie says, studying the fetal monitor printout. “Not alarming drops, but based on what I’m seeing and what the nurses have been seeing, it’s looking more and more like we’re headed that way. You’ve been at this for awhile, Addison. Repositioning didn’t work. You’re exhausted and despite your best efforts and our best efforts, your cervix just isn’t getting past five centimeters. And your kid seems to really be ‘over this.’ I think we need to discuss the possibility of a C-section. If you want to wait a bit longer, I’m willing to give you another two hours, but that’s it.”  
  
Addison shakes her head, eyes brimming with tears. “I really, really don’t want one.”  
  
“I know this isn’t your preference for how you want to bring your kiddo into the world, but what would you tell a patient if they were in your exact situation?”   
  
“That I need a C-section,” Addison grumbles. “And that all births are meaningful and all that matters is that the baby gets here safely and that the mom is safe too. I’ll…okay, okay. I’ll have a C-section. But it’s not…it’s not the stigma. I don’t _care_ about that. Getting sliced open with a scalpel is just as badass as pushing a kid out vaginally. I’m just…just…” she looks over at Mark as tears start to drop down her cheeks.   
  
“Don’t be scared. You’re gonna be fine, Addison. And so is Henry,” Mark says, stroking her hair while Maggie asks a nurse to page the anesthesiologist and to start getting ready to bring her patient down to the OR.   
  
“I hate my cervix,” Addison announces bitterly. “Hate-hate.”  
  
Mark sighs quietly. “Look, I know I’ve basically been banned from talking about your cervix and anything delivery-related, but you have a very great cervix, Addison. You kept your son safe for nine months. And I know this isn’t how you wanted to do this, but this is what’s happening, so you just have to let Maggie do the rest for you.”  
  
“Okay, but…Maggie,” Addison’s eyes dart back to her doctor as preparations are underway to get her down for surgery. “I…I want to hold Henry. As soon as possible. I know not every hospital is staffed and equipped for that in the OR, but…please. I have to hold my son.”  
  
“We can work with that,” Maggie assures her. “If I don’t have any concerns when I pull him out and look him over, I’ll bring him right over. I’ll have to lay him crosswise because of the drape, but that’s fine. We’ll make sure the leads are on your back, and we’ll have the IVs and blood pressure cuff and all that other fun stuff kept to one arm so your other one can be free.”  
  
Addison smiles gratefully. “Really?”   
  
“Yep. It’s no problem. And while I close you, the nurses can do the APGARs and assessment while Henry is on your chest, and just do measurements later. _But_ I’m going to need Mark right there with arms out like an offensive lineman and ready to jump in just in case you start feeling nauseous or get the shakes. And to just keep you and baby steady. It’s not the most comfortable position to hold or potentially nurse in.”  
  
“Won’t be a problem,” Mark says, lips tipping up in a smirk. “I’m sure if Addison wasn’t so nervous right now, she would tell you that I am _always_ right there and she would actually love if I would back off so she could have some space from me.”  
  
“Good. And Addie, if you’re having a tough time, remember that Mark can always do skin-to-skin with the baby, too.”  
  
Addison grins. Despite this being a very long and grueling day, she feels some humor roll through her. “Hey, are you just trying to get my husband to take his shirt off in your OR?”  
  
“I’m honestly not, but I’m sure every female member of the surgical team would have no objection if that ends up being the case.”  
  
\------  
  
“We’ll get started in a few, Addie,” Maggie calls out from somewhere near Addison’s numb waist. “You’re doing great.”   
  
“You really are doing great,” Mark echoes. He has a hand resting on the top of her head against the disposable surgical cap her hair has been wrapped inside, and the other on her shoulder.  
  
“Thank you,” she breathes out tensely. “I think I like blue scrubs better on you, by the way.”  
  
Mark shows her a smile and then glances down at the dark green scrubs he was given to change into before entering the OR. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I look incredible.”   
  
“Don’t,” she whimpers, and he jerks his head up, confused. It takes him a moment to realize this comment is not directed at him. “Don’t tie them down. _Please_.”  
  
The L&D nurse to his left, who has been getting Addison’s arms secured on the arm boards, speaks first. “I’m not strapping them down, Doctor Montgomery-Sloan. Promise. Just getting you situated, that’s all.”  
  
“She’s not tying you down, Addison,” Mark reiterates, brushing her cheek with his knuckles. She nods her understanding, but starts to cry anyway. Tears slip through his fingers. “Hey, you’re okay. Try to take slow breaths.”  
  
“Mark…” Maggie juts her chin towards the vital signs monitor. The lines that rise and fall back at him are nowhere near indicative of an all hands on deck situation, but Addison’s heart rate is definitely higher than it should be. Mark nods at Maggie, and directs his attention back to his wife.  
  
“Addison, look at me. Tell me about our son.”  
  
“I don’t…” she shakes her head, completely overwhelmed. Tears continue to fall. “I don’t…I d-don’t know.”  
  
“What’s his name, honey?” Mark prompts.   
  
“H-henry. Henry Everett.”  
  
“Where were we when you told me you were pregnant with him?”   
  
“At…at the park. Chelsea Waterside.”  
  
“That’s right.” Mark brushes away some of the moisture wobbling on the curves of her cheekbones. “What Hogwarts house do you think he’s in?”  
  
“Hufflepuff.”  
  
“Addison?” Maggie interrupts, voice calm and reassuring. Addison’s eyes shift towards the direction of her doctor, though all she can really see is the pale blue surgical drape in front of her. “You’re still doing great. I’m going to get started, and I’ll tell you where I’m at along the way, but I want you to keep focusing on Mark. I’m making the initial incision now. You keep talking with Mark…but if you both want to raise your voices so we can all hear the questions and answers, that would be cool. Up to you though.” Addison giggles at this, and looks back at Mark. She is aware of the surgical smells and sounds that are suggestive of a C-section, but in some ways, it feels like it is just the two of them.   
  
“Who’s Henry’s favorite baseball team?” Mark continues.  
  
“The Yankees. As if he has a choice.”  
  
“What’s the theme of his room?”  
  
“The ocean.”  
  
Mark nods in encouragement. “Why did Meredith knit the beanie she made for him in red, white, and blue?”  
  
“It’s New York Giants colors.”  
  
“Try to tell me something about Henry. About what he’ll be like.”  
  
“He…he…” Addison inhales shakily. She thinks for a moment, and she appreciates that Mark is somehow able to tell that she is (mostly) okay, and is just trying to give this question some thought.   
  
“He’s going to have a good sense of humor,” she decides. “And you and me…we’ll be able to make him laugh, but he’ll laugh the most for his sister.”  
  
“That sounds about right.” Mark says. He can feel her starting to relax a bit more. Her vitals on the monitor reflect this. “What else?”  
  
“He’ll…he’ll like the rain. Jumping in puddles.”   
  
“Okay, good. And what is Henry going to give Kate when she comes to see him for the first time after he’s born?”  
  
“A doll and a coloring book,” Addison answers. They picked these items out for Kate after Addison read a few articles on helping firstborns adjust to a new baby. They don’t plan for it to be a regular thing – Kate won’t get a present on Henry’s birthday, and vice versa – but they feel comfortable indulging her in this particular situation. “And Kate…” Addison pauses when Mark’s lips round to ask another question.   
  
“Sorry. Go ahead,” he says.   
  
“When I read about the idea of a baby giving a gift to his or her older sibling, it seemed more like a baby-to-a- _toddler_ type thing. I think the ‘it’s from Henry’ thing would really only work if Kate was, like, two. We should tell her it’s from us. If we say it’s from her brother…she is going to tell us we’re fucking idiots. There is no way she will think Henry crawled out of my uterus and went to the gift shop or something.”  
  
“Now it’s getting good…” Maggie says with a chuckle. “Almost ready to make the uterine incision. So what’s the plan with the bribery gift then, Mark?”   
  
Mark grins down at Addison. “Okay, well now we _definitely_ have to tell her it’s from Henry, just to see what she says. I’ll tell Kate. We both know she already thinks I’m a fucking idiot anyway. She just doesn’t know how to word it that way yet.”  
  
“Tell me something nice now,” Addison says softly over a few lingering titters from the surgical team, and then her OB telling her the uterine incision has been made. Her eyes widen when she can feel a tugging pressure near her hips. “We’re about to be parents again.”  
  
He leans close to her ear. “We’re about to be parents again. You’re beautiful and I love you. And…” Mark smiles when a tiny cry lifts through the room. “And our son is here.”  
  
\------  
  
“Your godson arrived a few hours ago. Henry Everett Sloan. Born January 24th at 10:57 PM. 20.5 inches. 8 pounds 2 ounces. Both Addison and Henry are doing great,” Mark reads his draft text message to Derek aloud. The beginning part is the only deviation from texts already sent to Addison’s mother, his parents, and Savvy and Weiss. (Savvy responded immediately when she received the text and a few pictures of Henry. Mark suspects they won’t hear from the grandparents for a few more hours, given the time he is sending off these texts and the fact that none of the oldest of the bunch they have shared the news with tend to sleep with their cell phones within arm’s reach.)  
  
“ _Henry_ is doing great,” Addison says, trying to adjust their son in her arms without inducing a searing pain near her incision. Breastfeeding is proving to be a challenge so far. “The _Addison_ part is debatable. Clearly my breasts are just as incompetent as my cervix.”   
  
“That is definitely not true,” Sophia, one of the L&D nurses who was present when they delivered Kate, says as she enters the room to check in on them. “I can request that the lactation consultant come by when she gets in. Have you tried the football hold?”  
  
“Not yet. I was hoping this way would work, but…” she winces. “I know the football hold is probably better because of the incision. Mark…I can see you out of the corner of my eye using your hands to try and figure out what we mean by ‘football hold.’ Please stop before I take a swing at you.”   
  
Sophia laughs and helps move and fluff the pillow beneath Addison’s arms, while Addison repositions Henry. “That brings back fond memories. You might have blocked this out, but when you were in labor with your daughter, at one point I was holding your hand…but then you yanked it away in order to try to smack your husband.”  
  
“Oh. I guess I did block it out. It sounds like something I would do though. Luckily, Mark is used to it by now. Hey…” she grins when her son latches. “There we go. Good job, Henry and breasts.”  
  
“Well, you make very cute babies, so whatever you’re doing seems to be working. I’ll check back in with you later. You know what to do if you need anything,” Sophia tells them as she moves towards the door.  
  
“We do make cute babies,” Addison says softly.  
  
“Yeah, we do.” Mark confirms, gazing down at their son. He can see a little bit of Kate in Henry – cheeks and mouth for sure – but Henry also appears to have features that distinctly belong to just him. “And this actually _is_ what I pictured a football hold to look like, you know.” He cannot resist pointing this out.  
  
“Shut up.”  
  
\------  
  
“Hey there.” Savvy raps on the doorframe. Both Mark and Addison glance over with tired, but happy expressions when they see their friend holding the hand of their daughter, whose smile is uncharacteristically shy as she stares at the bundle her mother is holding. “I’m just dropping off big sister for now. I’ll come back in a few minutes. I need to get back to the cafeteria. Long story short, Andrew has juice all down the front of his shirt, Emily’s in tears, and Weiss was left to deal with them both.” She gives them a quick wave, bends to kiss her goddaughter on top of her head, and then is gone as quickly as she arrived.  
  
“Do you want to come meet your brother?” Mark walks over and takes Kate’s hand. She nods, gripping his fingers tightly as they move towards the hospital bed.  
  
“How was school today, buddy?”  
  
“Good.” Kate answers dismissively as Mark eases her onto the bed. Circle Time. Math centers. Practicing letters. Who cares about that right now? Kate feels one of her mom’s arms – the one that isn’t holding the baby – curl around her, but she only feels it just a _little_ , because she is too busy looking at her little brother. “Hi, Henry,” she says softly. She holds a hand out, but looks at her mother first. Addison smiles and nods, so Kate gently touches her brother’s cheek with her thumb.  
  
“What do you think, Kate?” Addison asks.  
  
“He’s so little.” Kate giggles. “And soft. And he’s so _cute_.”  
  
“We think he’s pretty cute too,” Mark says as he walks to the other side of the bed, where a gift bag is waiting on the end table. “Hey, Kate. Henry got you a present.”  
  
Kate’s eyes narrow suspiciously. “Are you doing a joke?” She notices her parents exchange a funny look. She continues sharing her thoughts on this matter. “Henry doesn’t have money and he doesn’t know where any stores are. He doesn’t even know what a store _is_. So I don’t think he could have got me a present.”   
  
“You’re right,” Mark says, grinning at Addison’s _told you so_ look before shifting his attention back to Kate. “Mom and I bought something for you…it’s for Henry to give to you. Kind of like if it’s Mommy’s birthday when you pick something out to give Mommy and I buy it for you. This is like that. Henry already loves you though, so I’m sure he would want you to have this. Or…” he teases. “We can just forget about the present.”   
  
“No,” Kate shakes her head quickly. “I want the present. Please.”   
  
Kate ends up loving her Madeline doll and the “big sister” coloring book she got from Henry, but actually Mommy and Daddy. But the _best_ present of the day, she decides, is when she gets to hold her little brother. When Mommy falls asleep, her dad tells her that if she wants to sit on the nearby couch, she can hold Henry.   
  
“I love him so much,” she tells her dad with a wide smile. She wants to hold Henry on her own _without_ Daddy’s arms underneath her arms, but Henry is a bit heavier that she thought he would be, so getting some help is okay for now.  
  
Mark grins. “So do Mommy and I. And we love _you_ so much, too.”  
  
“When can he come home?”  
  
“On Friday, I think. Maggie will have to check on Mommy a few more times to make sure she’s feeling okay. Having a baby is a lot of work.”  
  
“I already know babies come out mommies’ vaginas,” Kate says far, _far_ too casually, and Mark nearly has a heart attack on the spot. Yes, they are doctors, so they answer body-related questions from their child in a pretty factual, clinical but age-appropriate way, but _still_.   
  
“Um. Right. But yeah, your mom and Henry will probably get to come home on Friday. So two more sleeps.”  
  
“Okay,” Kate replies softly, continuing to stare down at her brother. His eyes are a color she cannot quite figure out. They are not blue eyes like her, Mommy, and Daddy have, but they aren’t really brown eyes like Emily and Andrew’s either – they are just sort of dark, like the color of outer space. And they look sleepy. His hair is light brown. His nose, fingers, and mouth are as tiny as any of the features on her baby dolls. She smiles, wanting to tell Henry something special. Mommy is sleeping, but even if Mommy was awake, her feelings probably would not be hurt. Mommy _is_ her best friend, but so are Emily, Andrew, Daddy, and Meredith. One more is okay.   
  
“You’re my best friend, Henry,” she whispers earnestly. Her little brother blinks up at her. He does not know any words yet. He does not know how to go shopping or even know what shopping is. But somehow, Kate thinks, Henry _does_ know what she means when she tells him that they are best friends.  
  
Mark smiles and peers back at his sleeping wife. They have waited for this moment – for their son to arrive – for what feels like so much longer than nine months. Nine long, not particularly easy months, especially towards the end. A sense of completeness fills him though. It is hard to imagine life being more perfect than it is right now.  
  
\------


	44. Aim Your Arrow at the Sky

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the original, there was a Postpartum depression storyline, and that is still happening starting...now (no suicidal ideation and no self-harm, but it is angsty, so just FYI & TW). It eventually gets better though! ♥

**Chapter 44. Aim Your Arrow at the Sky**  
  
Life at home as a family of four begins three days after Henry is born. Then there are “newborn photos” on Sunday; they beam in color-coordinated outfits, both Mark and Addison laughing over the fact that this will probably be the last time for quite a while that nice clothes are worn, makeup is done, and hair is shiny and clean.   
  
Climbing the stairs is hell, so Addison limits up-and-down trips at first. Henry’s bassinet is in their bedroom, and Mark (with some help from Weiss) brings the changing table and some baby essentials stuffed in storage cubes down, which is helpful. And things are _good_. She doesn’t remember feeling adrenaline – not something unheard of – after Kate was born, but those feelings definitely exist this time. The adrenaline helps carry her through the physical pain, which, like the stairs, is unpleasant. She can’t lift anything heavier than Henry, but sometimes even lifting Henry is a challenge (thankfully, Mark does the majority of the lifting, and things feel comfortable for Addison so long as she has a boppy in her lap while she holds and feeds her son, though feeding _definitely_ has its own challenges). She’s normally a side-sleeper, but that’s not an option because it causes her pain, so she sleeps with two pregnancy pillows on either side to prevent her from rolling over during stretches of sleep. Addison does her best not to utilize her stomach muscles, but getting in and out of bed also hurts (Mark is the lifting MVP for this as well). The discomfort is bearable though since the end result is Henry. She has energy, is happy, loves watching her daughter interact with her son, and she and Mark both agree there really isn’t a better smell in the world than a baby’s head. They have lost track of how many Henry Head Hits they have taken.  
  
Around the seven-day mark, exhaustion creeps in. Even with her husband and Lauren helping, and even Kate, who is proving to be helpful and if nothing else, has been pretty well-behaved lately, Addison is certain she has never been this tired before. Changes she did not expect start to whisper in behind the exhaustion.   
  
The adrenaline stops. And everything else starts.  
  
\------  
  
By the time Henry is two weeks old, the desire to get _out_ of the house fills Addison more. She is still sore, but she is also starting to feel suffocated. It’s February though, so it’s too cold to take Henry anywhere, and he’s still so little. Mark is more than happy to stay home with him though while Addison grabs coffee with Savvy. He tells her to have fun.  
  
“I’m glad we’re doing this,” Savvy gushes. “It took a lot longer to get you out of the house alone after Kate was born. Yay for second-borns, right?”  
  
“Definitely,” Addison responds with a nervous smile. She holds her mug of hot chocolate tighter between her hands.   
  
It is not about birth order. It is more circumstantial than that. She just knows that when Kate was a newborn, she did not _want_ to spend time away from her. It was not a relief to be separated. This time is different.   
  
_But it doesn’t_ _have to be_ , she thinks as a mother, as a person, and not as a doctor. _I can get through this_. The notion rattles through her when she and Savvy part ways. Addison then takes a cab to her two-week appointment with Maggie, an appointment she was able to switch from tomorrow when she sent Maggie a text to curiously see if she had any openings today. Normally, she would bring Mark. And Henry. Maggie will want to see Henry. It is last minute though, she reasons, and she will have a standard six-week postpartum exam in a few weeks anyway. They can come then.  
  
Addison’s incision is healing great. Before she is brought back to the exam room, she completes the questionnaire attached to the clipboard so Maggie can review it. She knows what answers will and will not raise an alarm.   
  
\------  
  
Mark sighs, trying to mask his disappointment. “I just…if you told me you rescheduled, I could have come. I would have brought Henry. I wanted to be there to support you, Ad.”  
  
“The two-week appointment is really just a quick look at the incision though,” she says with a small smile etching across her face. “I pretty much went as a formality, since I know it’s healing fine. We can all go to the six-week one.”  
  
“I thought maybe you could have talked with Maggie about…about how tired you’ve been, but that you’re having a tough time falling asleep.”   
  
“We have a newborn, Mark. And healing scar or not, I’m still recovering from major abdominal surgery. Kind of par for the course. But, I…” Addison swallows nervously. _Try_. _Use your words_. “Do you have to go back to work next week?”  
  
“I can take more time off if you want. I just figured with Lauren around and Kate at school…” Mark hesitates when she starts to cry. _Is that what this has all been about?_ he wonders. He steps forward, wrapping Addison in a hug. “Addie. Hey, it’s alright.”   
  
She whimpers into his chest. “You can’t leave me alone with him.”  
  
Mark hugs her tighter as anxiety flows through him. “Addison, why can’t I leave you alone with Henry? Talk to me.”  
  
“You’re…you’re hurting…”  
  
“Oh, shit.” He steps back immediately, feeling awful when he realizes he accidentally pressed against her incision scar. “I’m sorry, Red.”  
  
“It’s okay. I just…I don’t feel ready yet.”  
  
“Then I won’t go back yet. That’s fine, Addie. Is that what this has all been about?” Mark asks. “You just…you haven’t seemed like yourself lately. What’s going on?”  
  
“Do you think I’m a bad mom?”  
  
“Addison, no. You’re a _great_ mom. And it’s fine if you’re not ready for me to go back yet. I’m here for you, okay?”  
  
She opens her mouth, then closes it. Mark finds himself mimicking this action as he tries to think of how to provide her reassurance, but also glean some understanding. Saying _I think you need help_ feels so…intense. And hurtful. Maybe it hasn’t reached That Point yet. He would know, wouldn’t he?   
  
“I think…is it okay if I just go nap for a bit?” Addison asks.  
  
“Yeah, of course. And I’m here if you need anything.”  
  
It does not occur to Mark until later that she did not answer his question.   
  
\------  
  
Addison mulls over what to make for dinner while breastfeeding Henry. She is starting to get back into the swing of cooking and other homemaker-due-to-maternity-leave duties. _Being productive helps_ , she determines. If she cannot do _this_ – a word that stretches so much further than she ever thought possible – she might as well make herself useful.  
  
Mark takes a seat next to her. She is holding Henry protectively in her arms, but her gaze is directed out the window. He tries not to make comparisons, but Addison could barely take her eyes off Kate when she was a baby, especially during feedings. It is hard for Mark to wrap his head around it all. Addison is fine when visitors come – Savvy and Weiss, Lauren, her mother, his parents for a few hours – but something fades in her when it is just their little family. Something fades when she is with _Henry_.  
  
“Addison?”  
  
Much of the past three weeks are a blur for Mark. Addison was up and walking from Day One as recommended, but it’s not exactly comfortable, so Mark did the bulk of the housework, lunch packing, and cooking (or takeout) for the first two weeks. He continues to handle most things Henry-related that don’t involve feedings. Not that Mark _minds_ – it just means that thinking clearly and making astute observations hasn’t always been possible. Having Lauren shuffle Kate to and from school is helpful though, and after-school time involves the four of them, split up with some Addison and Kate one-on-one time. Kate loves her brother, but the transition to having a sibling is not necessarily smooth, so Kate has been clingier lately. This means Addison-Kate Time and Mark-Henry Time in the evening, which is fine, but it’s just…not what he expected. Addison’s attachment to Kate has seemed to increase, but it does not seem that way with Henry. But then, they’ve never had two kids before. Maybe this is normal?   
  
“Addison?” He tries again, gently stroking her cheek. “You okay, honey?”  
  
She startles a little at his touch, but snaps her focus back, looking down at the infant pressed to her chest. “Sorry,” she whispers.   
  
“Are you okay?”  
  
“Yeah, I just…I can’t do this.” She shakes her head, still looking at Henry.  
  
“You can’t breastfeed?” He watches her nod, sees the slight lip quiver. “I think you’re doing a great job. It was uncomfortable with Kate at first too, remember? But then it got easier.”  
  
“This is different,” she insists. “I can’t.”  
  
“Okay. Hey, that’s fine, Ad. Whatever you want to do is fine. I can give Henry’s pediatrician a call and see what formula she recommends. And actually, he’ll be a month old in a little over a week, so we need to get him in for his well-baby check anyway. Classic second kid – with Kate, we would have already had her _six_ -month visit scheduled by now.” Mark chuckles, and Addison does grin at this. “I’ll call to get it scheduled. And get some info on formula.”  
  
She nods. “Yeah, if you could call Doctor Russo, that would be great. And I’m thinking spaghetti for dinner. What do you think?”  
  
“That works for me. Are you sure though? We could always do takeout.”  
  
“No, it’s okay. I want to make something.”  
  
“Addison…are you okay though?” He asks again. “You seem a little sad.”  
  
Her head dips lower. Her voice is small and brittle when she speaks. “I don’t want you to be disappointed in me.”  
  
“About stopping breastfeeding?” Mark touches her shoulder. She twitches a little at the contact, but then, maybe she wasn’t expecting it. “I’m not. We both know _fed_ is best. I don’t want you to be uncomfortable and in pain. This is the right call. Plus, Henry is such a chill little dude. He just likes to eat. He’ll take to formula like a champ.”  
  
“Thank you. I might take a quick shower, if you don’t mind hanging with him?” Henry has fallen asleep at her breast.  
  
“Yeah, of course. Didn’t you…did I dream it or did you shower this morning? Lack of sleep means time is starting to have no meaning now.”  
  
“I did, but, you know. Spit-up in my hair and lots of other fun post-birth things,” Addison says. Both are true, but it is not the _complete_ truth. She showers a lot now. Silence. Aloneness. And the chance to cry without being heard.   
  
\------  
  
It is not _all_ terrible. Pain is pain, so it should not matter, but Addison knows it _could_ be worse. Many mothers have worse anxiety. Addison has not fantasized about running away. Her stomach aches when Henry cries, but she has never felt a desire to throw him across the room. She does not want to hurt herself and she does not have a Plan.   
  
Her daughter loves her. Kate is good and kind and funny. She still wants to read with her mother every night.  
  
Her husband loves her. Mark gets her flowers for Valentine’s Day, even though Addison insists he doesn’t need to get anything. They’re still in newborn fog. They exchange quick good morning and good night kisses, and sometimes the kisses are a bit longer, but she pulls away first. _It’s not you_ , she tells Mark, continuing to cushion herself between pillows. _I’m just so tired and sore_. Mark says he understands. He handles nighttime feedings and any of Henry’s other needs throughout the night. Mark isn’t always in their bed, because the only things Henry likes more than food are being held and rocked, so Mark will usually just walk around with him. He brings Henry back to their room once he’s asleep; the bassinet is still on Mark’s side of the bed (it was easier this way at first because of the lifting thing) and Addison thinks maybe they should move it to _her_ side, at least once in a while, but Henry seems happy where he is. So she does not ask. And when Mark _is_ in their bed, he is so far away. That one is on her though, she knows.  
  
And Henry’s love for his mother? It is hard to tell.  
  
 _She_ loves Henry. Once Mark drifts off into an exhausted sleep (he is doing so much more than she is, so of course she feels guilty about this), Addison watches the languid rise and fall of her son’s chest. She wouldn’t do that if she didn’t love Henry and want him in her life. She knows this. But love and attachment aren’t the same thing, and what she feels just isn’t the same as what she felt for a newborn Kate. There was _joy_ with her daughter, like Addison had discovered another color hanging off a rainbow or something. And even though she hides it well, if she feels this way, how could Henry possibly love her back? Why would he even _want_ to?  
  
It all just hurts.   
  
\------  
  
“He turns five weeks old tomorrow,” Mark says one evening after dinner. Addison is washing the dishes, even though he told her he does not mind doing them. Henry dozes in his bassinet in the living room. Kate is upstairs getting ready for bed, and even if she were in the kitchen right now, she would probably be oblivious to whatever it is Addison is going through. Addison keeps whatever she is feeling at bay in the presence of their daughter. Her face lights up around Kate. Mark wishes he could say the same for Henry. And himself, sometimes.  
  
There is an edge in Addison’s voice when she answers. “I know he does.”  
  
“Oh. I…I wasn’t saying that you didn’t. I’m just saying.”  
  
Henry starts to cry. Mark decides to give it a minute. Sometimes in the evening when Henry isn’t hungry and doesn’t need a diaper change, he’ll fuss, but if Mark waits a minute or two, he’ll drift back to sleep. He seems to cry more than Kate did at this age, but he settles much, much quicker. He is a happy little guy, and isn’t too demanding as far as infants go.  
  
“Do I have to get him or can you do it?” Addison asks. She flinched as soon as their son’s tiny cries were heard.  
  
Mark promised himself he would be gentle, that he wouldn’t snap, that he wouldn’t say anything cruel or express just how God damn _frustrated_ he is. Easier said than done though.   
  
“ _Have_ to get him? Are you fucking serious, Addison?”  
  
She curls her fingers around the edge of the counter. She studies the soap bubbles popping in the sink. “It was just a word slip. I didn’t…I didn’t mean it that way.”  
  
“Addison. This is our son. Our _son_. He’s perfect and incredible and he’s just…this is our _baby_. Henry needs both of us, not just me. Why don’t you want to spend time with him and take care of him?”  
  
“I don’t know.” It is the only sound now. Henry has fallen back to sleep.  
  
Mark takes a deep breath to calm himself. _This isn’t her fault. You need to remember that_. “Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to get upset. I love you and I know you’re doing your best,” he gently touches her elbow. “But I think we need to -”  
  
“Don’t touch me,” she snarls, jerking away.  
  
“What is wrong with you?” Mark hisses, keeping his voice low, but he might as well be shouting. He was sorry, and he _is_ sorry, but irritation rises again. “I’m not trying to mount you on the kitchen table, Addison. I just…” he wrestles against the tightness filling his throat. “I _miss_ you. Maybe after Kate is asleep we can watch a movie or something? Or talk? Addison…I don’t think you’re okay. I’m worried about you.”  
  
“It’s just baby -”  
  
“Don’t say it’s baby blues. It’s _not_. We need to make an appointment with Maggie to get you some help.”  
  
“No, I don’t -”  
  
“Mommy?” Kate calls out as she comes back into the kitchen. She has not noticed their argument, luckily. They have gotten remarkably good at whisper fights in the past few years whenever a disagreement arises.   
  
“Hey, sweetheart,” Addison answers. _Please don’t need -_  
  
“I’m ready to read now,” Kate says brightly. She has a _Madeline_ book in her crossed arms. “I put my jammies on, washed my face, brushed my teeth, _and_ I gave Henny-Penny a kiss. He’s still sleeping. Are you coming?”  
  
“Kate…” Addison swallows heavily. _It never, ever stops_. “Is it okay if Daddy reads with you instead?” _I just want to lie down. I can’t -_  
  
“But you always read with me,” Kate says, still pleasant, but a little whine is starting to creep into her voice. “Come on.”  
  
“Please not tonight, Kate. I’m so tired right now.” _Stop. Stop. Stop._  
  
“Oh,” Kate replies. Now she understands. “I’ll read to _you_ then, Mommy. We didn’t get to play together today and I want -”  
  
“ _Kate_ _!_ ” Addison slams a dish down in the sink. It clatters and spins. “I can’t read with you tonight. I _can’t_. Stop asking.” She turns back to the sink quickly so she doesn’t have to see the look on her daughter’s face.  
  
Kate holds her book tighter. Her lower lip trembles. She wants to run out of the room, run far away, but then Daddy’s arms are around her, picking her up and carrying her upstairs. Her book is wedged between his chest and hers, probably getting bent, but she doesn’t care because it’s a _stupid_ book now. A stupid-stupid-stupid book.   
  
Mark sets Kate down on her bed, but immediately cuddles her into his lap when, understandably, she bursts into tears. The book falls to the floor.   
  
“What did I do _wrong_?” Kate hiccups.  
  
“Nothing,” Mark answers, taking a shaky breath. “Buddy, you didn’t do _anything_ wrong. Mommy just isn’t feeling well, and you know how sometimes when you’re not feeling well you can get a little grumpy? That’s all. Mommy just -”  
  
“You should not have promised.” Kate is still sobbing, but manages to shoot him a withering look. “You said you and Mommy would love me and Henry the exact same.”  
  
“We do, Kate.”  
  
“ _Mommy_ doesn’t. She doesn’t love me and she doesn’t love my brother.”  
  
Mark is glad Kate’s head is buried beneath his chin so that she doesn’t see when a tear slips down his cheek. “I know it…I know it might _feel_ that way, but it’s just not true, Katiebee. Your mommy loves you and your brother. She’s just having a bad night, that’s all. How about I read a book with you and stay until you fall asleep? Tomorrow will be better.”  
  
“I want you to stay, but I don’t want to read. I don’t want to read ever again.”   
  
\------  
  
Mark sleeps in the living room that night, sprawled out on the sofa while Henry dozes nearby. Addison doesn’t want him in their room, anyway. By the time he came down from the third floor, the door to their bedroom was closed.  
  
He sends out a variety of Bat-Signals before going to sleep though, and repeats the details in his head at various points throughout a mostly sleepless night. Savvy is coming. She will bring her kids. Lauren, who has been given a _CliffsNotes_ version of what is going on, will take Kate and the twins to school. Savvy will stay and watch Henry. Savvy knows the full version now, and will spend the next few days privately wondering what it was that she _missed_. Then Mark will take Addison to see Maggie. Maggie will have a consulting psychiatrist present.  
  
Mark looks over at Savvy. His expression is troubled. They are standing over Addison. The room is still dark, because the drapes are pulled shut. There is never light anymore. It is not going well. Addison started bawling as soon as Mark told her why Savvy is here and where they are going.  
  
“You need to get out of bed. Please, honey. Savvy is going to watch Henry for us. We need to go see Maggie. We just want to help you.”  
  
“I d-don’t want to go,” Addison is still crying, quieter now, and all Mark wants to do is give her a hug, but he knows the gesture will not be well-received. “I already – I already _have_ a follow-up next week.”  
  
Mark sighs. “I know you don’t want to go, but you _have_ to. You’re not well, Addison. And that’s not your fault and I’m not blaming you, but you need -”  
  
“I _hate_ you,” she whimpers.  
  
Savvy inhales sharply and her eyes widen in shock. “ _Addison_.”  
  
“It’s fine, Sav,” Mark shakes his head at her, and then faces his wife again. She won’t look at him though. “You wanna hate me? Fine. Hate me in the car. Right now Savvy is going to help you out of bed and help you get dressed. This isn’t a choice. Get up.” This time, Addison does make a move to wiggle out of bed, and Savvy steps in to assist.  
  
“Fine. I’ll _go_. But, Mark -”  
  
“This isn’t just _about_ you anymore. Your daughter cried herself to sleep in my arms last night because she thinks you don’t love her anymore. She thinks you don’t love Henry, either. And honestly? I can see why she thinks that. So don’t tell me you’re okay. You’re _not_.”  
  
Addison turned away from her daughter yesterday so she would not have to see the devastation on Kate’s face after snapping at her. Mark does the same now. He leaves the room before he can survey the extent of the damage his words may have caused.   
  
\------  
  
Mark raises his head when he hears the muffled scrape of a door and squeak of Maggie’s shoes. Sensible shoes. He thinks about how many times Maggie teased (or admonished) Addison about her choice of footwear while pregnant. _Happier_ times.  
  
“Hey,” Mark greets quietly. There is no movement behind Maggie, so clearly Addison and Doctor Castillo – the psychiatrist – are still talking. Mark was not part of any of it, which was not his choice.  
  
“Will you stay with me?” Addison asked when he and Maggie walked with her to Doctor Castillo’s office. Mark felt a shudder move through his heart when he realized this question was directed to _Maggie_ , not him.  
  
“So, I’m sure you already know,” Maggie begins. “Addison has Postpartum depression. Doctor Castillo is still talking with her, but she put an order in for Zoloft. And Addison has agreed to weekly appointments with a therapist. I’m about to go pull some really unethical doctor, I-know-a-guy strings and get the prescription so you don’t have to wait in line, but first, Addison wants you to know that -”  
  
“ _She_ can’t talk to me about what she wants me to know?” Mark interrupts. He sighs. “Sorry. I didn’t mean…please go ahead.”  
  
“She’s not a danger to herself or her son. That’s my assessment, Doctor Castillo’s assessment, and also what Addison is feeling. She wants you to know that. There are a lot of other things she wants you to know too, but this is…this is just where she’s at right now. It’s going to take time. You need to be patient. The medication will help – both with the depression and hopefully with the anxiety – and so will therapy. It’s just not going to happen overnight.”  
  
Mark just needs to say it aloud, to test the weight of it. “Addison has Postpartum depression. How…”   
  
“It doesn’t come from a single cause. But from an emotional perspective…she lost her father recently. Her labor wasn’t what she expected it to be and she was really scared for most of the procedure. She’s always been a worrier, but she’s exhausted and overwhelmed now, so that makes her feel like she’s failing her son – and Kate. And you. Those things don’t _help_ , but even without them, PPD can just happen. And hormone changes -”  
  
“I know all that. I meant ‘how’ more in…” he shakes his head. “Never mind. It’s just…hard to believe this is the same woman who was in tears before you wheeled her down for a C-section because she wanted to do skin-to-skin with her son. And now she can barely look at him and barely touch him. She doesn’t want to connect with him.”  
  
“You know this isn’t the same woman, Mark. Not right now.”  
  
“I know. I just…she used to _talk_ to me. Even though it’s hard for her to ask for help or admit when she’s in pain, she’d try. She told you about her dad. I know that…I know this is _depression_ , not bursts of normal grief, but she let me help her and hold her and…” Mark trails off, redness settling in his cheeks.  
  
“I know. It’s not that she doesn’t _want_ to talk to you though. She’s hurting and can’t find the words yet. The fact that she loves you so much…I imagine that makes you the person she’s struggling the most to share this with.”  
  
\------  
  
“Addison?” Mark says. Her prescription is nestled in a cup holder between them. She already took a pill, quietly telling him there doesn’t seem to be any point to waiting until this evening or tomorrow morning. “I’m sorry for how I acted and what I said to you – both this morning, and last night. Especially this morning though. You’re a good mom. I know you love your kids. You didn’t deserve to hear that from me. I’m really sorry.”  
  
“Me too,” she replies softly. She does not elaborate. Not yet. She _can’t_. “Did Maggie talk to you?”  
  
“She did. But I’m hoping…I’m hoping that you’ll talk to me, too.”  
  
Addison closes her eyes, and leans towards the window, forehead pressing to the cold glass. “I just want to go home and lie down. Please not right now.”  
  
 _When then?_ he thinks desperately.   
  
\------


	45. The Way We Come Undone

**Chapter 45. The Way We Come Undone**  
  
“Hi there,” Savvy greets when Mark and Addison walk through the front door. She keeps her face friendly and doesn’t ask how the appointment went. Not yet, anyway. Instead, she dips her head to indicate the sweet little baby wiggling in her lap, all blue eyes and fuzzy hair and chubby cheeks. “Mister Henry has been up for a while, but he’s been super happy. And making all sorts of cute noises…” Savvy looks up as Addison takes a step forward, a yearning look drowning over her features. “Oh. Addie, do you want to hold him?”  
  
Addison freezes. “No. It’s okay,” she shakes her head, eyes moving away from her son and back to the floor. “He’d probably…he’d probably rather have Mark hold him. Thank you for watching him, Sav. I think I’m going to go lie down. Sorry I’m not…better company.”  
  
“Don’t apologize. I can come up there with you if you want though for a few minutes, and just get you settled?” Savvy offers. Addison nods, so Savvy hands Henry over to Mark and follows.   
  
Addison gingerly sits down on the edge of the bed. She glances towards the spot where she sleeps. It feels like there should be a permanent indent there, given how much time she spends in bed now.   
  
Savvy drops down beside her. “I know it’s the most annoying question, but…how are you doing?”  
  
“I, um. Well, I have Postpartum depression. I’m sure you figured that out this morning though. I didn’t…I didn’t mean for this to happen,” Addison says quietly.   
  
“It’s not your _fault_ this is happening, Addie.” Savvy puts an arm around her. “Try to show yourself a little grace right now. But also…you also have to let your family and friends help you.”  
  
“Is Mark mad at me? I know I’ve said…I’ve said so many things…”  
  
“No, babe. He’s not mad at you. He loves you and he wants you to get better. And look, I know it’s not the same thing, but after my surgeries, putting words to the feelings was probably the hardest part of recovery. Just…talking to Weiss was hard. I get what it’s like to not have the words, or to _have_ them, but they just end up stalled in a traffic jam in your throat. You need to let Mark in though.”  
  
Addison lets her head collapse on Savvy’s shoulder. “I know. I just feel so embarrassed and… _ashamed_.”  
  
“I’m sorry you feel that way,” Savvy says quietly. _It’s not your fault, it’s going to be okay, don’t be sorry, you’re going to get better_ – she expects Addison will hear a lot of that in the coming weeks, so she doesn’t offer anything else on the platitude front. Instead, she stays close to her friend and sits with her in the shame and heartache.   
  
\------  
  
Mark holds a finger to his lips when Savvy comes back down the stairs, just to give her a little warning. Henry is sleeping now, snuggled in his bassinet.   
  
Savvy keeps her voice low as she provides an update. “I stayed with her until she fell asleep. Then I texted Lauren. I’m going to pick up Kate after school when I get Em and Drew. Emily has ballet at five, so I can bring Kate back a little before that…is that okay with you? Then I can be over here as much as you want tomorrow and Sunday. Sorry. I probably should have checked with you before I started just making executive decisions.”  
  
“No, it’s fine. That’s really helpful,” Mark answers. He hopes Savvy knows how grateful he is to have her right now. “Lauren is family. You’re family. You can make as many decisions as you want. Um. Thank you, for all your help today. I just -”  
  
“Can I give you a hug?”  
  
Mark’s eyebrows rise up at this interjection. He almost laughs. “We _never_ hug. I always assumed you’d backhand me across the face before you’d give me a hug.”  
  
“Same. And yet, here we are,” Savvy says, wrapping her arms around his waist. Mark’s forehead presses into the top of her shoulder, and she feels a slight tremble move through him. “You let go when you’re ready to,” she adds. She feels him mumble some sort of acknowledgement at this.   
  
“I don’t know what to do,” Mark admits when he pulls back. His eyes are crowded with moisture.   
  
Savvy shakes her head in disagreement. “Yes, you do. You might be the dumbest boy in the world, but you’re a smart husband and a smart dad. You know your wife and you know how to take care of her. Just tell me what I can do to support you guys.”  
  
“I think…I want to take her to Cape Cod. It’s not a long-term plan, but just for a few days. Just the two of us. Maybe Addison will be able to breathe a bit better there. She always…she’s always so happy when we go there. And staying here just isn’t working.”  
  
“Okay.” Savvy gives him a sharp nod. “Good. So, what’s better for your kids? Should I stay here, or bring them to our place? Don’t think. Just answer.”  
  
“Here. But I know that -”  
  
“Don’t worry about the details. Weiss and I will make it work, and we can use Lauren, too. We’re here for you.”  
  
\------  
  
Mark takes a deep breath and selects the appropriate icon to call his best friend. He needs Derek to know, and he figures this is the kind of information better shared through a phone call than a text. Other than a measured inhale, he has not really given this task much thought though. It just occurs to him to call Derek. Everything after is autopilot.   
  
“Hey,” Derek answers immediately, which takes Mark by surprise. He expected to leave a voicemail. It’s not even noon yet in Seattle, and Derek rarely checks his cell during work hours. “How’s Addison doing? Savvy told me what’s going on,” Derek adds when he realizes Mark’s silence is due to confusion. “God, I’m so sorry, Mark.”  
  
“Yeah, me too,” Mark replies. He peeks towards the staircase that leads to the second floor. Addison is still sleeping. Then he frowns because whatever Derek says next does not come through clearly. “Can you say that again? Your hospital intercom system sounds like roll call at Yankee Stadium.”  
  
“We’re not at the hospital. We’re coming. Meredith and I, uh, we’re at SeaTac. We just got inside the terminal. No chants for Aaron Judge or a code being called – just flight announcement stuff.”  
  
“Wait.” It takes Mark a moment to process. “You’re coming here…?”  
  
“Yeah. Savvy told us you’re going to Cape Cod. So we’re on our way and we’ll help with the kids…we’ll figure out some sort of babysitting rotation system with Sav. It’s gonna be real dysfunctional and Little Red will probably be running the entire house two minutes in, but we’ll take good care of them.”  
  
“I really appreciate you guys doing…you didn’t have to do this.” Mark says, voice cracking. “You’re just…you’re really coming?”  
  
“It’s Addison,” Derek replies. It’s that simple. “And you. And your kids. We didn’t look up flights in advance, but we’ll find something. I’ll keep in touch. Do you need anything in the meantime?”  
  
 _I need my wife back_ , he thinks.   
  
\------  
  
“Is Hen-Hen awake?” Kate demands in lieu of a hello when Mark opens the front door for her. Savvy is down at the sidewalk, bouncing on the balls of her feet, car still running. She shouts something about a lost tutu and a popsicle stick (it is not clear to Mark if these are related), so they’re behind schedule, _crap gotta go I’ll text later bye_.   
  
“He is,” Mark waves goodbye to a running-late Savvy and shuts the door. He gestures to where Henry is lying on his cushy activity gym, waving his hands at one of the hanging, light-up toys. “He woke up not too long ago. I think he knew you were on your way home. And Mommy is taking a nap right now.”  
  
Kate flings her backpack onto the floor as hard as she can upon hearing this. She is not supposed to be loud inside and throw things, especially with a baby because Henry does not like loud sounds and it is not nice to scare him, but she cannot help it. Her cheeks flood with anger. “Mommy is _always_ sleeping. She doesn’t love me and she doesn’t even want to be _awake_ when I am awake.”  
  
Mark takes her hand. “Come sit with me for a minute, buddy. I want to talk to you about what’s going on with Mommy right now.” He glances at Henry, who is still cheerful even without a parent directly next to him, and also undisturbed by the chucking of the flamingo-printed backpack (to be fair, it’s Kindergarten; it’s not like there is really much of anything _in_ Kate’s backpack, so she might as well have thrown a cotton ball).  
  
“Is Mommy okay?” Kate asks. She is still upset, but she picks up on something not good in her dad’s voice. Mark chews the inside of his cheek for a moment upon hearing this question.  
  
 _Your mommy has never been less okay in her life_.   
  
“Mommy is sick,” he says, still holding her hand when they plop down on the sofa. “But she’s going to be _okay_ , Kate. It’s just gonna take a little time, like when you have a cold or a tummy bug – it doesn’t go away the next day, right? It’s like that. This doesn’t happen all the time, but sometimes when mommies have babies, sometimes they get a little sick afterwards. So they have to take a special medicine because they’re feeling sad, and sometimes when you’re feeling sad like that, it’s hard to be patient with your daughter and your son. Your mom loves you – and Henry – more than anything in the world. Just…it’s a little hard for her to show it right now.”  
  
“But…she will get better?”  
  
“She will. Mommy and I are going to go to Cape Cod tomorrow. She needs to get some more rest, and the beach always makes her feel better. It’s just a mom and dad trip,” he says quickly when he sees Kate’s mouth curl up to ask. “We won’t be gone more than a week. And we’ll FaceTime with you all the time. Aunt Savvy and Uncle Weiss are going to watch you and Henry. But guess what? There are two _other_ special people who are going to come spend time with you too.”  
  
“Who?” Kate asks. Her disappointment fades a little as curiosity takes over.  
  
“Well, one of them likes Taylor Swift as much as you do…”  
  
She makes a gasping noise and breaks into a wide smile. “Meredith and Derek?”  
  
“Yep,” Mark says. He feels another swell of gratitude for their Seattle visitors. “They’ll get to play with you, and they’ll get to meet Henry. How cool will that be? So Mommy and I are going to leave tomorrow afternoon, but we won’t be gone too long. I promise. We’ll be back before you know it.”  
  
“When you come back…” Kate says, expression serious. “Bring _Old_ Mommy back. Not New Mommy.”  
  
\------  
  
Mark gently knocks on the frame of the bedroom door. Addison is sitting up, watching reruns of _The Office_ , but he suspects she is not really digesting much of the show. He is happy to see her upright though, as well as see a crumb-filled plate on the end table. She must have gotten something to eat while he was putting Kate to bed. She hasn’t had much of an appetite lately, so this is encouraging.   
  
“Hey. He’s a bit fussy tonight,” Mark says when she looks up to see him and Henry standing at the room’s entrance. “I’m going to take him up to his room and rock him. Do you need anything?” He knows he needs to tell her about Cape Cod. It isn’t fair to spring it on her last minute. But he’s just so tired. It can wait until morning.  
  
Addison hears Henry making little experimental snuffling noises, but he does not seem particularly fussy. She suspects Mark is just trying to continue giving her space. Or he is angry at her. _Probably both_ , she figures. “No, I’m okay. Is it okay if…can I say goodnight to him?”  
  
“Yeah. Of course,” Mark quickly walks over to save her the trouble of getting up. “Addie…this is your son. You don’t ever have to ask my permission to hold him and interact with him. And if I said or did anything to make you feel that way, I’m really, really sorry. I know you love him. And I know Henry loves you.”  
  
 _He shouldn’t_ , she thinks.   
  
“Goodnight, my sweet boy.” Addison drops a kiss on her son’s silky hair. He has a good amount of hair, and the color reminds her of light caramel. He really is a beautiful baby. And his eyes – Mark tells her they are _her_ eyes. It is hard for Addison to know for sure though. Maintaining eye contact with Henry is difficult.   
  
She hovers for a moment. Henry smells… _different_. Or the smell just seems new again? She thinks back to all those times she and Mark were inhaling that sweet baby head smell, slowly memorizing it. When had she stopped doing that?  
  
“Addison,” Mark says, cutting into her anxious thoughts when she shifts away, disappointment clouding her features. “I’m sorry you’re hurting. But I want you to know I’m here. I’m not going to push you to talk, but whenever you feel ready…I love you and I’m here for you.”  
  
“Thank you,” she whispers.   
  
\------  
  
Addison listens. She wills herself not to burst into tears, even though panic is assembling as she tries to process the information Mark is sharing. She can’t quite take everything in quick enough. It’s like being stuck in a dream where every movement is just infuriatingly slow, no matter how hard you try to get your limbs to cooperate. But now it’s words, not actions. The words keep coming to her ears, feeling bristly in juxtaposition to the placid tone her husband is using. Savvy and Weiss. Kate and Henry. Stay here. Do you want to try to eat something? Have not told your mom. Do you want to call her? Glass of water. Derek and Meredith. SeaTac. New York. Arrived close to midnight. Last night. Hotel for the night near LaGuardia. Today. Coming here. Around one. Did you take your medication yet? Lauren helping. Savvy. Packing. Leave. Get there. Around five or six.  
  
“The whole cavalry is coming,” Addison states, voice harsh enough to shatter glass. “Is our Gross Anatomy professor coming, too? And Skippy Gold? How about the ghost of Joe Strummer? Did you let him know?”  
  
 _Savvy told Derek first_ , he wants to say. There is no point though. It is petty, for one. And also, Addison is directing her anger at _him_ , not Savvy. Savvy could vote Republican in the next election and Addison would still probably be more resentful towards Mark than her best friend.   
  
Mark shakes his head. _Stay calm. Do not get mad at her. This is the love of your life and she is in pain._ “Savvy and Weiss and Meredith and Derek – and Lauren, to a lesser extent – are the only ones who know what’s going on. They want to help you.”  
  
Mark wants to tell Addison that just like she is doing the best she can right now, so is _he_. He wants to tell her there is no pamphlet on the best way to handle this as a spouse, but of course there is. Not _their_ specific scenario, sure, but there are plenty of books, statistics, research articles, and support groups out there. Mark should know. He worked his way through the first five pages of his search engine last night while Addison slept restlessly between pillows.  
  
Addison nods. _Try to talk about this_ , she tells herself _. Try_. _Do the Vermont thing._ “It’s just a bit overwhelming,” she admits. “The idea of them all being here when I’m…” _You worthless fucking loser. You had it. All you had to do was keep going. Tell him. Just say you’re feeling awful and everything hurts so much that you can barely breathe. You have Postpartum depression. Postpartum God damn depression. Just say it._  
  
“I know. It’ll just be Derek and Meredith this afternoon though. I can walk them through the kids’ routine and show them around the place if you just want to hang in the living room. I’m sure they’ll do whatever they can not to make this too overwhelming for you. And Derek said the four of them will sit down tomorrow and work out a schedule, and just have Lauren plug in the gaps.”  
  
“Some vacation for Derek and Meredith.”   
  
“They care about you, Addison. They want to be here. And it’ll be good for Kate, you know? She loves Sav and Weiss, but they’re old news. She’s excited for Meredith and Derek to come. I think it will make the, uh, exit today a bit easier for her. But, also – remember Savvy is going to be here around ten. Not for too long. She wants to bring a few basic groceries to get us started for when we get to the beach house. And she offered to help you pack, if you want. She asked me if she could stop by. And I can’t say no because you know she terrifies me.”  
  
 _Probably not as much as I do right now_.   
  
“I’d offer to help you pack, but you know I would only pack your bras and panties.” Mark continues, testing the waters to see if he can coax a smile or laugh out of her.  
  
Addison’s lips twitch a bit, revealing a hint of a smile. “I seriously doubt you have any interest in fucking me right now. Not with…with how I’ve been lately. Or how I look.” It isn’t cold or derisive. It’s not even meant to be self-deprecating. It’s just how Addison feels. Because she knows how she has been treating him. And she knows what she looks like. For as much as she has showered over the past few weeks, she hasn’t really washed her hair often. The purpose of the shower is _escape_ , not shampoo.  
  
“Well. I wouldn’t say that we _fuck_ , for starters.”  
  
“Fine. Then I seriously doubt you have any interest in making looooove to me.” This time, her tone is cutely mocking and she does accomplish a smile – it doesn’t make her eyes sparkle and it’s not a _true_ Addison smile, but it’s _something_. Mark smiles too, even though he feels his heart breaking for her.   
  
“I think you’re beautiful, Addison. And I really _can_ help you pack, if you want. Even beyond the top drawer. Maybe while we pack we can talk?”  
  
She sighs. “But I don’t…I don’t _want_ to go to Cape Cod, Mark. Don’t I get a say in this?”  
  
 _Not right now, you don’t_. “Addie…this isn’t a punishment. It’s just that you’re having a rough time. Staying here isn’t working. We have to try something else. Just for a week or so. Think of it as a rest and relaxation thing. And it’ll be kind of nice to spend some time together, right? I know the first week of March isn’t the ideal time to go to the beach, but we…we’ve always loved it there, no matter what the weather is like.” _It’s raining and it doesn’t matter because we’re a family. Don’t you remember?_  
  
Addison looks over at Henry, who is sleeping in his bassinet. _But he barely knows who I am right now,_ she worries _. Will he know me at all anymore if I spend a week away from him?_ And then she thinks of her other child. The child she hurt. The child who will probably never forgive her. _Oh, God_.  
  
“Mark? Is, um…is Kate awake?” Addison hates herself for not knowing. She is the mother. She _should_ know. She should try harder to exist outside the four walls of this room. Try harder to be upright.  
  
“Yeah,” Mark answers. “I got her breakfast and she’s playing in her room right now. Did you want to go see her?”  
  
“No, it’s okay. I’ll say goodbye before we go, and if she comes to me before that and wants to play, then of course I’ll…” Addison feels her face tingle with heat and remorse. “I just don’t want to make Kate feel uncomfortable or pressured. It’s better if she…I should probably follow her lead. I didn’t…I didn’t _mean_ to yell at her and make her cry. I just…I just couldn’t do it anymore.”  
  
“I know. It’s okay, Addison. Do you want a hug? I could give you a hug, or we could just…cuddle or watch some TV or something until Sav gets here? We don’t even have to talk if you don’t want.”  
  
“I might just…I might just sleep some more until Savvy gets here.”  
  
“Do you want me to stay with you, honey?” _Can I_ is replaced with _Do you_ this time. Perhaps rejection will hurt less this way.  
  
“No, it’s okay.” Addison buries herself under the covers. _Wait until he leaves. Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry._ “I’m okay.” _Liar_.  
  
“Okay,” he says calmly while walking over to the bassinet. “I’ll take the little guy then, just so he doesn’t wake you if you end up falling asleep. Is that alright with you?”  
  
“I…” she swallows hard, feeling her throat tighten. “Mark, if you weren’t here, I would still…I would take care of him, you know. I wouldn’t let him sit in a soiled diaper or go hungry. I…I love my son.”  
  
Mark peers down at the baby now nestled in his arms. He thinks back to the other night. “I know you love him, Red. And I know you’d take care of him. Great care of him. I don’t think…the other night when I asked why you didn’t want to take care of him, that was rude. I shouldn’t have said that. I just really miss talking with you and I’m worried about you – so I snapped. I know you can and would take care of Henry. I just want you to be able to _talk_ to me about all of this, but if you aren’t ready yet…I get it. I’m trying to get it, at least. Anyway. Henry’s still sleeping. I could put him back in the bassinet and stay.” And then he tries again, shoulders already tensed in preparation for the likely response. “Let me put him down and come hold you, Addison.”   
  
_I can’t let you do that._ “I’m just going to sleep,” she murmurs, rolling on her left side so that she can’t see him anymore. “You and Henny should probably go check on Kate.”  
  
 _Henny,_ he considers. Kate – who calls her brother a hundred and one different names – has said Henny-Penny once or twice, but never just H-e-n-n-y. Mark’s heart swells a little at the thought. Addison used a nickname.   
  
“Addie? I’m gonna take Henry to check on Kate and let you rest but…you survive everything. We survive everything.”  
  
“What?”   
  
“I just want you to know…” Mark begins, fighting to keep his composure. “Surviving everything. You said that about yourself, and about us…after your dad’s funeral. I need you to remember that it’s still true. You’ll get through this. And I hope you’ll let me help you along the way.”  
  
He closes the door gently on his way out.   
  
_Oh_.   
  
\------


	46. Gone and Away

**Chapter 46. Gone and Away**  
  
Addison makes a small contribution to the list Mark has scrawled out for Derek and Meredith to give them a general idea of what a day in the life for Henry looks like, including typical nap times, how often he eats, and how many ounces of Enfamil he generally consumes. _Try to do 15 minutes of tummy time a day_ , Addison jots down. Mark tells her that was a good one. It’s genuine – Addison knows he’s not just trying to lift her spirits. If anything though, writing that suggestion makes her feel worse. It’s unimaginative and she might as well have looped quotes around it and cited a parenting article. It doesn’t _mean_ anything. It’s not the same as knowing if Henry cries real tears yet. If he likes being bathed as much as Kate did at this age. If he’s focusing both eyes on objects.   
  
_This is your son. He was part of you once; and now he should be an external part of you. If you didn’t spend so much time in bed and tried harder to bond with Henry, maybe you would fucking know these things_ , she thinks.   
  
Addison quietly thanks Mark for making the list, as well as an additional one for Kate. And then, after forcing out a steadying breath, she climbs the stairs to the third floor.  
  
She hovers in the doorway of Kate’s room, watching as her daughter plays with her Maisonette dollhouse, chatting animatedly while guiding little figures around the rooms. A miniature mouse family, _Frozen_ characters, and Barbie career dolls have all lived in the house at one point or another, but in the past few months, Kate’s interest has shifted more towards just having a mommy, daddy, baby, and little girl figure as the only tenants. (No one knows where the original girl child who came in the family unit is. Kate swapped that figure out for a three inch, posable Princess Merida from _Brave_ a long time ago. Merida is meant to be Kate in this situation, of course.)   
  
“Hi, Kate,” Addison greets in a hushed tone, feeling both shy and stupid.   
  
Her daughter’s back is to her and Kate does not turn around, but she does return the greeting. “Hi, Mommy.”  
  
“What are you doing?”  
  
“Playing,” Kate answers simply. “And being good.”  
  
_Of course you’re being good. You’re always a good girl. You just happen to have a really bad mother._  
  
“I…I just wanted to tell you that Meredith and Derek will be here in a little bit and then Daddy and I are going to get going. So I was hoping I could…” Addison walks into the room and sinks to the floor beside Kate. “Sweetie, I wanted to tell you that I’m sorry about the other night, when I yelled at you. I was being really mean, and – and you didn’t do anything wrong. You’re _always_ a good girl. I’m just…right now I’m kind of sick. But that’s not an excuse to be mean and -”  
  
“Daddy said that you’ll get better,” Kate interrupts, eyes still trained forward. Her tone hovers between that of a statement and inquiry. Addison watches Kate’s fingers as she nimbly sets the baby in the highchair, and then bends the daddy figure and Merida/Kate into chairs at the pink kitchen table. Addison doesn’t see the mommy figure.   
  
“Yeah. I will,” she answers. “I’ll get better, Kate.” _I guess_. Logically, Addison knows medication and CBT will help, that this stubborn sadness is treatable and will not last forever, but right now, _no_. Pain defies logic. Life before she felt this way, life that was _normal_ , just has no significance anymore. It feels too hard to embrace hope, to tip her face towards the sunlight, to let her husband – her kind, _loving_ husband – take care of her. How could she do anything else but lie to the little girl next to her though? The girl who Addison loved before she even really knew her. The girl who believes in fairytales and wants so badly to learn to backhand a ground ball and knows that Mommy enjoys _Madeline_ books as much as she does. Or did, at least.  
  
“When you get better will you want to read again?”  
  
_God. How could I do this to her?_  
  
Addison swallows heavily. “If – if you want to read right now before it’s time for me and Daddy to leave, we can do that, Kate. Or we can play with your dollhouse. I…I would love to play with you.”  
  
“I just want to play by myself,” Kate says, but not unkindly. Her mother did not want her the other night. And now Kate does not want her mother.   
  
Addison watches as her daughter turns her head further away, chin digging into her collarbone. She sees the twitch in Kate’s jaw, and realizes Kate is trying not to cry, but mostly just trying to make sure her mommy can’t see if she _does_ start to cry. _Did she learn that from me?_ Addison wonders. _What else has she seen and learned from me in the past few weeks?_ She peaks back at the dollhouse one more time as she starts to rise to her feet. And she finds herself. Separated from the rest of the family. _Oh._  
  
Addison places a quick kiss to the top of Kate’s head. “I love you, Kate.”   
  
“Love you too,” Kate mumbles. Addison lingers for a moment, feeling a strip of light sweep through her heart at this. Just for a moment though. Kate is sitting perfectly still, as though Addison’s touch was part of a game of freeze tag, one of Kate’s favorites. She knows Kate intends to stay this way until she is no longer near her. So she quietly walks away.   
  
\------  
  
Some sort of whisper debate is taking place outside their front door, and Addison actually does giggle upon hearing it. She texted Meredith earlier – _Door is unlocked. Just come in when you get here_. Realistically though, even when someone tells you just to enter your home without knocking, it still feels _weird_ , so Addison gets it. She is the only one downstairs right now, so it is up to her to handle the entry. She grabs her cell phone off the coffee table and sends a text to both Derek and Meredith. _Come in and turn left. I’m in the living room._  
  
Addison thinks about standing when the couple comes into the house, but figures it is a waste of time to bother with formalities at this point. She takes in Derek and Meredith’s appearances as they walk over to her – they have that rumpled, Seattle-ish look to them, but their hair is clean and they are nicely dressed, which is more than Addison can say for herself. She feels like _greasy_ and _puffy_ are the adjectives that best describe her appearance lately.   
  
“Hi,” Addison says, relieved when Derek and Meredith elect to remain on the other side of the coffee table. “It’s nice to see you guys. I wish it were under better circumstances, but…I didn’t know you were coming until this morning. I’m sorry for any trouble this has caused.”  
  
“No trouble at all,” Derek answers. His voice is kind and he definitely presents as sympathetic, but Addison appreciates that he is not _completely_ eyeballing her like she is a freak show participant in a season of _American Horror Story_. “We wish it was under better circumstances too, but we’re glad to be here, and we’re glad to be with your kids while you get some rest and -”   
  
“Wait for the earth to abideth and the sun ariseth?” Addison quips. He looks surprised. She wants to tell Derek – like she told him so long ago – that much like Satan can have a sense of humor, so can depressed bitches.  
  
Derek smirks. “You’re not a Hemingway fan. I believe you once described my all-time favorite book as long-winded and self-indulgent.”  
  
“I stand by that.”   
  
The clopping sound of steps being descended is heard throughout the living room – and then the clean-landing thud when Kate skips the bottom two. She is over to Meredith in a flash, and Meredith kneels down and takes the forty pound hit with a surprising amount of grace.  
  
“And who is this girl?” Meredith teases, leaning back to look at the petite redhead in front of her. “You are not Kate Sloan. Kate Sloan isn’t this tall.”  
  
Kate giggles. “I _am_ Kate Sloan. I just growed taller.” She looks over at her mother. “Can I…can I take Mer and Derek upstairs and show them Henry? And show them my room?”  
  
“Of course.”  
  
“You two go on up,” Derek says, ruffling Kate’s hair. “I’ll be right there. I’m just going to say hi to your mom for a bit.”  
  
“That’s how she talks to me now. And how she looks at me,” Addison murmurs when it is just the two of them. Derek sits down beside her before responding.  
  
“How?”  
  
“She just…” Addison sighs. She doesn’t know how to explain it. It’s a look Kate gives her (when she feels comfortable making eye contact, that is) that encapsulates both dread and resignation. “I yelled at her two nights ago. I’m a parent and I have a strong-willed child – it is far from the first time I’ve raised my voice. But it’s the first time I did it when nothing warranted it and…it’s the first time it cracked her heart wide open. It’s the first time I was _cruel._ I didn’t recognize who I was when it was happening – nor did Kate. So just…while we’re not here, if she wakes up at midnight and wants an ice cream sundae or something, don’t feel like you have to tell her no. It’s been a really hard few days for her. Well, for all of us, I guess.”  
  
“You’re going to be okay, Addison. You’re going to get better.” Derek leans in and kisses the side of her head. “And we’ve got the kiddos in the meantime. We’ll take good care of them.”  
  
She nods stiffly, and then holds her cell phone out. “Would you mind dropping this in the black bag over by the stairs? You should probably head up there.”   
  
\------  
  
“Hi,” Meredith says, running into Mark on the landing area of the second floor. She gives him a one-armed hug, as her other hand is still wrapped tightly in one of Kate’s.  
  
“Daddy,” Kate announces, looking the happiest Mark has seen her look in the past two days. “I’m going to show Meredith my room. _And_ my Taylor Swift poster.”  
  
“That’s great, kiddo. You can show her Henry’s room too while you’re up there. And Kate – I’m gonna talk with Derek really quick when he gets up here, so we should probably say goodbye now.” Mark crouches and holds his arms out for a hug.  
  
“I love you, Daddy,” Kate says, tangling her arms around his neck.  
  
“I love you, too. I’m going to miss you. Did you and Mommy get a chance to say goodbye?”  
  
“Yeah,” she says simply. Mark does not push the subject.  
  
“Okay. And while Mommy and I are gone, I want you to have fun, but I also want you to listen Derek and Meredith. Deal?”  
  
“Deal,” Kate says, holding her knuckles out to him.  
  
“Did you just do a fist bump explosion?” Derek says, coming up the stairs in time to see Mark open his palm and spread his fingers out, accompanied by some sort of obnoxious, rumbling noise.   
  
“Yes. And I have zero regrets about that. Hey.” Mark holds his hand out. They shake, and then do an informal, mostly not-awkward man hug. “Thank you for – for coming.”  
  
“Yeah, of course. So I already saw the older one – not that she’s really _that_ thrilled to see me, since I’m not Meredith Grey – but where’s the little one at?”  
  
“Right in here,” Mark gestures for Derek to follow him into the master bedroom. Henry is currently on the bed, clad in a dinosaur-patterned romper Kate picked out, with a plush rattle in hand. He has reached the point where if they put toys of a certain size in his hand, he can hold onto them. “This is your godson.”  
  
“This is my godson,” Derek repeats. He reaches a hand out and lightly wiggles Henry’s foot. “Hello there, handsome man. Wow. Kate is pretty much pure Addison, but this one is kind of a blend of both you guys.”  
  
Mark hands Derek a spare house key, and the schedule for Henry he wrote out, assuring him it’s really just a general _idea_ of what the average day looks like, because there are definitely times the little guy has his own agenda. He then shows him a much neater, nicer copy of some basic information – their pediatrician’s contact number, the location of the first aid supplies, and so on – that Addison typed up for Lauren a long time ago.  
  
“Let’s see, what else…oh, Kate’s bedtime is 8:30 on weekdays. Tonight you can just put her to bed whenever you get tired of her. She’ll clue you in on her bedtime routine. And I know you and Sav will go over it in more detail tomorrow, but Lauren can handle school pick-ups and drop offs, unless you want to – Kate’s school is just three blocks from here. We usually get her up by 6:30. School starts at eight. And I wrote it down, but she knows the things she’s supposed to do every day – brush her teeth, do a half-ass job making her bed…things like that. And she doesn’t have any after school activities at the moment, but tee-ball practices start near the end of the month, so feel free to throw the ball around with her. She’ll probably ask you to. And the tee is in the backyard, if you want to take her to the Great Lawn.”   
  
“Okay,” Derek says. He scans the lists while cuddling Henry in a shoulder hold. And then Derek nods when Meredith reappears. She reports that Kate is still playing in her room; by some miracle Meredith was able to convince Kate to hang by herself for a minute or two so that she can talk with the grownups.   
  
“I guess that’s mostly it. Bottles and formula are on the kitchen counter. And actually, Kate knows how to make bottles, so if you want to have her do that, she can. We should probably hit the road, but Kate can give you a tour of the place – she’ll love that. And she knows where pretty much everything is, but you can call me or Sav if you have any questions.” Mark makes a vague gesture with his hand around the bedroom. “Henry’s bassinet is here, and there’s one in the living room as well. Feel free to move them wherever you want though. The guest room down the hall isn’t set up yet, so you’ll have to sleep in the master, but, um. I put on a fresh set of sheets this morning and the comforter was just washed. I, uh, I don’t know if it’s weird -”  
  
“You’re gonna make it weird if you keep talking to me and my wife about the marital bed you share with my ex-wife,” Derek quickly interrupts. The former dirty mistresses both offer a strained smile.   
  
“Yeah, you’re right,” Mark says. He lightly touches the back of Henry’s fuzzy head. “And, just so you know…Addison doesn’t want to go to Cape Cod. It might take a few minutes to get her out to the car. And it might not be a pretty scene.”  
  
Meredith speaks first. She had an unstable childhood. Calmness in a crisis is a strong point for her. “What do you want us to do?”  
  
“Maybe just…maybe just wait up here until we’re gone? I don’t know if -”  
  
“We’ll wait then. We’ll go up to Kate’s room and make sure she stays with us,” Meredith says. “Just text Derek when you get in the car. And…hang in there. She’ll get through this, Mark.”  
  
\------  
  
_She will get through this. And you will help her get through this_ , Mark tells himself as he pushes the trunk closed. The last bag has been packed. He glances up at the afternoon sky. Bleak and swirled with gray. If they leave now, they should get to the beach house around five-thirty. He walks back up the steps to their front door, reminding himself to grab a coat for Addison from the entryway closet. He conjures the image of her sitting in the living room while he was loading up the car. Navy-colored Uggs. Leggings or yoga pants – he isn’t sure of the difference. And a loose-fitting sweater. No coat though.  
  
Mark opens the front door, eyes immediately honing in on the sofa, but Addison isn’t there. Only a bunched-up chenille throw remains in her absence. And then he hears the slight rasp of movement on the staircase. There. _Shit_. There is Addison. Four steps up. Fingers clenched tightly around two wooden balusters.   
  
“Addie…” he whispers, much too low for her to hear though. She is staring down at her knees and trying to make herself as small as possible, but she must have at least heard Mark reenter the house. She won’t look up though.   
  
This is not the first time Addison has crouched on the stairs and refused to let go. She didn’t want to leave the first time, either. Mark thinks of his best friend, and part of him wants to strangle Derek. But only a _part_ , because the man who threw Addison out in the rain that night is currently upstairs caring for his son and daughter. Derek dropped everything to be here. And that night – that was _then_. Their worlds fell apart. They all made mistakes, both in actions and _re_ actions. Trauma often transforms people. It did that night. But they got out of it. They got through it. And Mark thinks maybe the _now_ they are living in isn’t so far removed from the way in which they muddled through everything after he and Addison were caught in bed together. Addison’s world has now fallen apart again. It wasn’t the end last time though. And he won’t let it be the end this time, either.   
  
_Go slow. Do not scare her_.   
  
“Addison.” Mark shuts the front door, speaking a little louder as he moves to the foot of the stairs. Tears are inching down her cheeks. “I’m going to come sit next to you. That’s all. If I’m inside, you’re inside. I’m not going to force you out the door.”  
  
Addison nods. She already knew this, but her throat feels too overpoweringly tight to say it. She knows. She just doesn’t want to leave. Leaving makes it real.   
  
“We _are_ going to go to Cape Cod though…” Mark takes a seat beside her. “But if you need a few more minutes, that’s okay. I’ll wait here until you’re ready.”  
  
“I’ll try…try…”  
  
“Try what, honey?”  
  
“H-harder,” she weeps quietly. “I’ll try _harder_. I promise I’ll try harder.”  
  
“Hey. Can you look at me for a sec? Please?” Mark gently sets a hand on her knee. Addison doesn’t flinch, which surprises him. And then she does crane her neck towards him to meet his eyes. “Addison, you _are_ trying. You’re trying your absolute hardest right now. You’re an incredible mother and you’re an incredible wife, but right now you’re sick.” She looks away, embarrassed. “And that’s not your fault. Us leaving here…this isn’t me being punitive. I’m proud of you for doing the best you can, but this isn’t really working. You see that, right? Let’s try Cape Cod, just for a few days…it’s a change of scenery and the chance for you to get a bit more rest. We’ll come back. This isn’t forever.”  
  
“O-okay,” she hiccups. “Okay.”  
  
“Okay,” Mark repeats. “I’m not going to pull you down the stairs or make you stand up. We’ll go when you’re ready.” He takes his hand off her knee and sets it between them, the heel flush to the edge of the step. “Maybe just touch my hand if you need a little help getting up.”  
  
Mark waits. His cell phone is already in the car, and his Bulova watch – a gift from his wife six Christmases ago, when Postpartum depression was something _other_ women unfortunately experienced, not _her_ – is somewhere upstairs. He guesses how much time has passed though. Probably two minutes. Now three.  
  
And then Addison gingerly sets her hand on top of his.   
  
They both take a deep breath.   
  
\------


	47. Please Just Save Me From This Darkness

**Chapter 47. Please Just Save Me From This Darkness**  
  
“I brought a water for you.” Mark gestures to the bottle in one of the center cup holders as he settles into the driver’s seat. “There’s some snack stuff in the mini cooler behind my seat, and the things Savvy grabbed for us at the store to get us through the night and tomorrow morning. I…I wasn’t sure when you’d last eaten.”  
  
_I’m not sure either_ , she thinks. _Dry cereal…was that this morning? Or last night?_  
  
“Thank you,” Addison replies softly. “Oh, it’s okay…” she waves at Mark’s hand, anticipating his next move when he starts the car and a sports radio station comes on. “Leave it. You can listen to the game. I…I kind of want to hear it.” It’s an odd statement, coming from her. Addison does not really follow professional basketball (baseball a little for the sake of Mark and Kate, and she knows a decent amount about football and tennis…the football part always surprises people). But hearing measured dialogue covering an NBA game sounds more appealing than music at the moment. And it fills the silence, of course.  
  
Mark chuckles at this. “No one _actually_ wants to hear about the Knicks, but sure. Just another very painful ‘rebuilding season.’”  
  
“I think the Knicks and I have that in common at the moment.” Addison is staring out the front windshield, but she does reveal a closed-mouthed smile at this self-assessment. A small smile. _But still_ , Mark thinks. _It’s a smile_.   
  
“I’m just gonna text Derek really quick and let him know we’re in the car and then we can…” he pauses to finish the message and send it off. “Addison?” Mark waits until she looks over at him. “I know that…I know I didn’t really give you a choice about leaving, but I’m glad you got in the car. And if you want to talk – I’m here and I’m listening.”  
  
“Okay,” she whispers. “In…in a little bit.”  
  
\------  
  
“Mattapoisett. That was our spot, right?” Mark asks, glancing over at Addison before refocusing on the stretch of US 6 in front of them. They hit traffic in a few predictable spots along the trek, and they still have a week to go before Daylight Savings Time comes along and pushes them even further into fatigue, so it will likely be dark by the time they get to the beach house. “That was usually around where you would bring up me proposing to you.”  
  
Addison is awake now. She has slept on and off throughout the trip. And in the rare moments she is awake, it has been quiet. Nothing but the scraping of uneven road beneath them and a calming, low-volume Spotify playlist Mark put on when the signal from the previous station was starting to weaken.   
  
“Except for the one time I _didn’t_ bring it up…and then you actually did propose,” Addison replies with a light grin, and then peers out the passenger window, trying to pick out their surroundings. She has mostly been sleeping (she cannot tell if she is sleepy just because she is sleepy or if the Zoloft is making her sleepier), but even when she is awake, sometimes she sees without really seeing. Addison cannot really explain it; she just knows it is not the same as zoning out. “Did we already…?”  
  
“We passed it a while ago. You were sleeping. We’re about thirty minutes out. But for the past few minutes, I can tell that you’ve been staring at me, so I thought I’d bring up something easy. Because usually when you’re looking at me like that, it’s because you want to tell me something…but you aren’t sure how.”  
  
Addison fiddles nervously with her hands, fingers twisting over and around one another. “Which is basically my MO lately. I don’t really…I don’t know where to _start_.”  
  
“Start anywhere. It doesn’t even have to be…we could talk about _anything_. How you’re feeling. March Madness predictions. Area 51. Your analysis of _folklore_. Celebrity gossip,” Mark says, and she lets out a small laugh. “Try, Addison.” His voice is gentler this time.   
  
She takes a calming breath first. “Meredith is pregnant.”  
  
“Wow, really? They didn’t…she told you that?” Mark thinks back to when he, Derek, and Meredith were talking. It must be early then, because Meredith definitely did not look visibly pregnant.  
  
“No. I can just tell. And I can’t imagine…I can’t imagine how awful…” Addison lets out a rickety breath. “I hope she didn’t look at me and just think that _this_ is her future. It’s like seeing a train wreck ahead of your own train wreck.”   
  
He shakes his head. “She wouldn’t have come if she didn’t feel up to it, Addie. I’m sure she knows the odds and statistics on this kind of thing. Just like you do. And she’s tough – also like you.”  
  
“I don’t…I don’t hate you, Mark. I felt horrible as soon as I said that the other day. I was just…I was angry. And embarrassed. It was about me. I really just hate _myself_ for this.”  
  
“It’s not your fault, Addison.”  
  
_Everything about this is my fault_ , she reflects bitterly. She doesn’t pull away though when Mark reaches for one of her hands. She has resisted physical affection for so long, but she can feel her resolve weakening. It is becoming too excruciating and scary to try to shoulder this sadness alone.   
  
“I know I’ve been…well,” she begins, voice shaking. _Try. Just try_. _Tell him you need him_. “About the hug you offered earlier. Is that still available later?”  
  
“Yeah, of course.”  
  
“Can it be a long hug?”  
  
“Yeah. As long as you want. Addie…do you want me to pull over?” Mark can tell in her pitch and by the look in her shimmery blue eyes that she is closer to losing control. She is fighting hard, and she _has_ been fighting hard for weeks, but there was never any chance she could keep it up forever. Addison is strong. But she is also human. “I can get off at the next exit if you need me to. If you don’t want to wait for a hug. I don’t mind.”  
  
Addison shakes her head, feeling her throat tighten. “N-no. We’re only like a half hour away. I can…I can hang in there.”  
  
“Okay. Well how about you just keep holding my hand…” Mark squeezes her fingers a bit tighter. “And close your eyes and focus on taking slow breaths.”  
  
\------  
  
Mark can see her in his peripheral vision. She is starting to get worked up, arms and shoulders trembling as she breathes in tiny, broken gasps. “We’re right around the corner, Addison. Two more minutes.” He pulls his hand out of hers and presses his palm against her upper back. “Try to stay calm.”  
  
“You’ll give me a h-hug?” She chokes out, starting to cry.   
  
“Yeah, I’m gonna give you a hug, Red. I’ll pull into the garage and I’ll come around and get your door for you.”   
  
There is an awful part of Mark that feels relieved this is happening. _Finally_. Addison finally wants a tangible form of comfort after weeks of shutting him out and shrugging off most physical contact. She has battled against this for so long though. There is no way the crash will not be devastating.   
  
“Here we go,” Mark says for her benefit, removing his hand from her back to push the button on the garage door remote opener clipped to the visor. He presses it again once they’re inside and he’s cut the engine. “Okay. I’m coming around. Two seconds.”  
  
Addison’s cries rise in pitch in the short time it takes Mark to get from one side of the car to the other. He opens the door and a sound of anguish rises from deep inside Addison, landing somewhere between a yelp and a scream. She strains forward hard, trying to get out and into Mark’s arms, but she has skipped the important step of unbuckling her seatbelt.   
  
“Stop, stop, stop,” Mark says, repeating the command so swiftly it sounds like one long word. He knows Addison is not really hearing him though. She manages to get her hands on Mark’s shoulders, but continues to desperately pump forward with her hips. Mark guides a hand around her waist, struggling at first to unbuckle the seatbelt due to how much she is moving. He worries about the incision she is undoubtedly aggravating from where the seatbelt is digging into her skin. “You’re going to hurt yourself. I’m getting it. Okay…there we go.”  
  
“Mark…”  
  
“I’ve got you,” he murmurs when Addison half-falls into his embrace. He helps her stand up, and nudges the passenger door shut behind them. “Let me help you inside.”   
  
“I’m sorry. I’m _so_ sorry,” Addison cries into his shoulder as Mark works on getting the garage-entry door unlocked, trying to support her while she leans against him. He can feel her tears wetting his shirt.  
  
“Don’t be sorry, Addie. It’s not your fault.” His heart aches for her as she gulps for air. _Got it_. The lock catches and he pushes the door open, helping a now-absolutely-bawling Addison inside. He says a silent thank you that the housecleaning service they have come once a month was able to make an additional visit this morning when he called to ask, and that they were able to leave some of the lights on and fiddle with the heater to ensure warmth is already spreading throughout the home.   
  
“But I’ve…I’ve been…” Addison stammers while Mark guides her to the couch. She is not really sure if he pulls her into his lap or if she just collapses on top of him once he’s sitting. “I’ve been so horrible to you and the kids. Mark, I’m really -”  
  
“Stop. This isn’t your fault,” he says. “No apologies. That’s not what I want.”  
  
“Then what…what do -”  
  
“I just want you to get better.” Mark reaches behind him, gathering a throw blanket lazily drooped over the back of the couch. “That’s all I want. But I need you to let me in, Addison. You’ve started talking and I’m so proud of you for that. You need to keep doing it though. Please let me take care of you.”  
  
Addison nods weakly, sniffling while he wraps her in the blanket and helps her kick off her boots.   
  
She manages a short, choppy laugh in between cries. “You’re swaddling me,” she says. _Just like you do for our son. And like I don’t do._  
  
“A little bit,” Mark grins weakly. “I know that’s not entirely why you’re shaking, but I want you to be warm. I can bump the heat up more if you want.”   
  
Addison shakes her head against his chest. “I’m okay,” she says. And then she can feel the words she has been pushing down for so long start to break the surface. She leans back from Mark a bit, sitting up just enough that she can look him full in the face. “Except…except…”  
  
“Except what?”  
  
“I’m _not_ okay,” she whimpers.   
  
“I know. I know you’re not.” The declaration is enough to make his own eyes fill with moisture. Mark lightly cups her cheek with his palm, voice heavy with emotion. “But you will be. Honey, I _promise_ you will be. You’re going to get through this. We’re just going to take it one day at a time.”   
  
“Please d-don’t let go.”   
  
“I won’t,” Mark assures. He slides his hand off her face to give her shoulder a light squeeze as reassurance. “I’m here. I’ve got you.”  
  
Addison shakes her head frantically. “No. Th-that’s not what I mean.” She reaches out and curls her fingers around his shirt, clutching urgently at the fabric as more panicky tears tumble down her cheeks. “I mean _us_. I know that I’ve been…I’ve been so…I won’t shut you out anymore, Mark. Just please don’t let go of me – of us.”  
  
“Oh, Addie. Hey, listen to me. I’m not letting you go. Ever. Get in here.” Mark hugs her against him, cradling the back of her head as she sighs with relief. “I’m yours, okay? I love you and I’m never leaving you. So put that worry out of your head now.”  
  
She nods shakily. “Okay…okay…”  
  
“I know our firstborn was loud and obnoxious when we exchanged wedding vows, but I swear I was listening during the part about ‘in sickness and in health,’ and I know you were, too. This is the sickness part.”  
  
“My firstborn who hates me.”  
  
“Addison -”  
  
“She _should_ hate me. I made Kate cry and think I don’t love her anymore.” Addison hiccups and rubs at her eyes. “I’ve been the worst mother ever. And my son is just over a month old and probably has no idea who I am because I try to stay away from him. I carried Henry for nine months, but I’m so afraid to hold him and take care of him.”  
  
“It’s alright,” Mark assures gently. “The important thing is that his life is just getting started. He knows who you are, Addison. He does. And he’s going to see what a great mom you are when you’re ready to spend more time with him. But you are _not_ a bad mother. You’re just…not yourself right now. And Kate loves you, too. She loves you, Addison. This is a hard thing for her to grasp, but she loves you.”  
  
“I’m so s-scared.”  
  
“Don’t be. You’re gonna get through this.”  
  
Addison starts crying harder. “And I’m really sorry, Mark. About all of this. About everything.”  
  
“There isn’t anything you could have done to have stopped this from happening. Don’t apologize for this. We can’t prevent something we don’t know is coming. But for right now, just rest for a few minutes, honey,” Mark runs his thumb pointedly over her radial artery. “Let’s get that heart rate to slow a little bit.” Addison nods wearily and closes her eyes, losing herself in the feeling of his chest rising and falling beneath her slumped body.  
  
Mark holds her tightly and alternates between usual forms of comfort when she is like this: rubbing soft patterns on her back, stroking her hair, and wiping away her tears when the pile-up starts getting to be too much on her cheeks. “Like this” though, he realizes, is an inaccurate way to put it. There is no _like this_. This is new. Tears because Addison is upset or hormonal or stressed or lost a loved one – those are standard reasons to cry, not unusual. The forceful cries leaving her body now though are broken and sad, yes, but they are also crushingly _angry_ and _remorseful_. This is new. Mark knows Addison feels frustrated this is happening to her. The heartache just keeps spinning all around her, and guilt has become a symptom that takes up a lot of space on the carousel she cannot seem to get off of.  
  
Addison eventually starts to settle down, but Mark can still hear tiny sounds rising from her, breaths puffing against his chest as her lips continue to move.   
  
“Addison? Are you mumbling ‘sorry’ over and over again under your breath?”  
  
“…yeah.”  
  
“Okay. Well, maybe…don’t,” Mark murmurs, and she almost giggles, but the sound gets trapped in her throat and transitions into a sad, tired mewl.   
  
“It h-hurts…”  
  
“Did you irritate your incision when you were trying to get out of the car?” Mark asks, gingerly folding down the front material of her leggings. Addison does not protest when he inspects the curved scarlet line stretching across her lower abdomen. She hates the scar, but she is too tired to push Mark’s hand away or feel self-conscious about it at the moment. The scar is ugly though, and it serves as a reminder of all the ways in which Addison has failed and is continuing to fail her son.  
  
“No. Just, you know.” She lightly taps her temple. “Here. In here.”  
  
Mark nods. “Oh. Yeah. Yeah, I know. And, Addison, I’m so sorry for how much pain you’re in. Pain that isn’t your _fault_ , before you apologize again. But you’re going to get better. Just not overnight.”  
  
“The medication might not work for weeks, if this particular one even works at all.” She shakes her head, hiccuping nervously. “I’m lost and I’m just going to _keep_ being lost. And the…the kids. We can’t be away from the kids for -”  
  
“Hey. Just a week here. I promise. A week at the most. Look, I know realistically when we leave here that you’re still going to be hurting. I know it’s not a swallow me and everything is all better thing. This is just meant to give you a little break. That’s all.”  
  
Her sobs transform into a small laugh. “You heard that, right? ‘Swallow me and everything is all better?’”  
  
“I heard it as soon as it was leaving my mouth, but I couldn’t stop. At least it got a little laugh out of you,” Mark grins while running a hand through her hair. “I know it’s mostly been self-deprecating, but you’ve managed a few laughs and smiles today. That’s good, Addison. And that feeling of being lost – you’re going to find yourself again. You’ll find your way back. Just know that you’re not alone.”  
  
“I’m feeling…I’m feeling a little calmer right now. _For_ right now, at least.”  
  
Mark nods. “Good. Maybe we should…well, I know you haven’t had much of an appetite lately, but you should probably try to eat something before we go to bed.”  
  
“No, I haven’t really…y _ou’re_ probably starving though.”  
  
“A little bit,” he confirms. “I can make us something. And I’ll bring our stuff in after we eat. You just stay here and rest.”  
  
“If you help me unload the car and get everything upstairs, I can unpack while you make dinner.” Addison shakes her head when he starts to protest. “It’s fine, Mark. I can’t expect everything of myself right now, but I can do little things. I can unpack. I don’t want to be in bed or on the couch all day. I mean, I _do_ want to just be in bed all day, but that’s not going to be how I get better, so. I can do it. I want to do this.”  
  
“Okay. Let’s go grab the stuff,” Mark says. _Get better_. _I can_. _I want to_. He realizes it has been a while since he has heard any of those.   
  
\------  
  
They retire to the bedroom after a light dinner. Just a few bites of a crust-less peanut butter and jelly sandwich for Addison, and two peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for Mark. Mark was so hungry he honestly could have probably eaten a third, but he stopped at two because Addison looked so tired that she was possibly in danger of falling asleep at the table. They both get ready for bed, even though it is not even eight yet. Addison tells Mark that he should feel free to leave the TV on if he wants to watch something while she sleeps, but he says he is tired too, and is fine with just going to sleep.   
  
“You should be tired,” Addison decides when he turns down her side of the bed. “Given that you’ve been doing all the caretaking and -”  
  
“Addison,” he murmurs, and she lets the start of the apology fade away. “Oh, hey – while I was making our sandwiches, Derek texted me a few pictures of the kids. Do you want to see them? They look like they’re having a good time.”  
  
Addison curls her lips together as she gets under the comforter. “I’ll…I’ll look at them tomorrow morning. I think right now…I think it would make me too sad. Not that I’m not _already_ sad, but…I don’t think it’s a good idea. I’m glad it seems like they’re having a good time though. Can we FaceTime with them tomorrow?”  
  
“Yeah, of course. Addison…” Mark gets in on his side of the bed, propped on an elbow. “Can I hold you while you sleep?”  
  
He says it so kindly, so _earnestly_ , that Addison’s eyes fill with tears, and all she wants to do is apologize. Again and again and again. Knowing Mark will shush her though, she just nods instead, stretching her arms out for him, and smiling gratefully when he scoots closer and cuddles her against him. Addison goes quiet for a minute, letting his hand soothe over her back while she tries to sort out the words tangled in her head.  
  
“I wouldn’t…” Addison murmurs into his neck, feeling anxious. “At first, I had to sleep between the pillows because I was terrified of rolling onto my side and putting pressure on my incision. The side works for some women, but I tried it a few times that first week, and it hurt too much. But after a while I kept going with the pillow island because I didn’t…well, for a lot of reasons that had everything to do with me and nothing to do with you, but mostly I just didn’t want to cry in front of you. About this.”  
  
“Why?”  
  
“Because I knew if I started, I wouldn’t be able to stop, especially if you were holding me. And I wanted…I knew you’d be nothing but understanding and you would _want_ to take care of me. And I just…” she shrugs helplessly. “I don’t know how to explain it. I just _couldn’t_.”  
  
Mark brushes a kiss against her hairline. “Well, now you’ve started, and you can cry as much as you need to. You can’t hold it in – it’s not good for you. Did you, like…want me to be mad at you, Addison? To like resent you or something?”  
  
“Yes,” she admits.  
  
“Well, I’m not mad at you. And I don’t resent you. None of this is your fault. This is a medical condition – it’s not the result of anything you did or didn’t do. It’s basically post-birth, shitty Russian Roulette. And you got the depression bullet. So no more saying sorry.”  
  
“You know I’m probably going to keep saying it anyway,” Addison murmurs, rolling onto her other side. The backrub feels nice, but she would rather just have Mark hold her tightly tonight. She sighs sleepily when he wraps his arm back over her, keeping her close.  
  
“I know you will. But for now, let’s try to get some sleep. You’re exhausted.” He briefly presses his lips to her neck. “I love you, Addison.”  
  
Addison blinks tiredly and she can feel herself tumbling fast towards slumber, but she forces herself to share more than the token response. “I love you, too. I know I haven’t said it much lately, but I do love you, Mark. So much.”  
  
“I…I know,” Mark says as relief floods through his heart. “Wake me if you need anything. I’m here for you.” He is certain Addison is asleep though before she even registers this offer.  
  
_I’m here,_ he thinks _. And she is here. We are going to find our way through this._  
  
\------


	48. Bruised Through

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, since there is a reference to Meredith being pregnant both in this chapter and the previous one, quick note: the original MTGOF was finished before Meredith/Derek adopted Zola (and of course before Bailey and Ellis came around). In the original version, they eventually had two kids, and I'm just sticking with that out of: 1) loyalty to the original; 2) sheer laziness regarding determining when Zola was actually adopted (lololol like timelines mean anything in Grey's Anatomy). I did speed things up though this time. I wrote Meredith and Derek as being engaged during the Postpartum arc of the original MTGOF, and this time I went with pregnancy just to speed things up a bit.

**Chapter 48. Bruised Through**  
  
_Sunday_. _Today is Sunday_ , Addison thinks, not quite willing to open her eyes yet. She can feel Mark’s chest warming her back, and one of his feet is wedged between hers. Her head hurts. Throbbing pressure, like someone is putting the heels of their hands against her temples and shoving inward. And her thoughts are coming in slow and just feel a bit…foggy. Loopy. Hazy. _Christ, pick an adjective and stick with it_. It felt this way yesterday too when she woke up.   
  
Nausea moves through Addison’s stomach. A different kind of nausea. Like the swooping ups and downs of a roller coaster. It is not pleasant, but it is not _entirely_ unbearable and she does not feel like she is going to throw up, at least. It is just different. _There is another side to this_ , she reminds herself as she comes to a bit more and realizes how thirsty she is. Addison grabs the glass of water she does not remember putting on the bedside table and drinks quickly. _You just are not there yet_.   
  
“You okay?” Mark asks, voice gruff with tiredness when Addison settles back on her pillow. She feels a little bad for waking him, but soothing the dryness plastering her lips and tongue could not wait. She smirks in amusement at his question though.  
  
“I think you know the answer to that.”   
  
Mark lightly drags his fingertips over her forearm. “I just meant that you were restless in your sleep last night.”  
  
“Oh, crap. Did I keep you up?” Addison asks, feeling bad. There are plenty of nights where the natural rhythms of sleep pull them apart, but she gets the sense that Mark did not let go of her at all last night.  
  
“No,” he says, even though the actual answer is _yes, but I don’t care about that_. “I was able to sleep. It’s okay. But if you’re still tired and want to go back to sleep, or take a nap later, just keep in mind those are options.”  
  
“I think I was restless because I was dreaming a lot.”   
  
“Dream-bads?”  
  
Addison smiles at the mention of what their daughter used to refer to scary dreams as. This makes her _think_ about Kate though, which makes her want to cry. She shakes her head.   
  
“I can’t really remember specifics. It felt like I dreamed all night, and I don’t think they were nightmares exactly…they were just unsettling and vivid. But it’s just that, I could tell…I could tell…”  
  
“You could tell what?”  
  
“That even…” a shudder works its way over her chest and shoulders. “That even in my _dreams_ I’m a bad mom.”   
  
“Addie, you’re not a bad mom.” Mark kisses her cheek. “You’re just a sad one right now.”   
  
“Me being a sad mom is _making_ me be a bad mom.”  
  
“You love your kids, Addison. And they love you too. Hey,” Mark nudges at her shoulder when he can see the movements of resistance quivering along her cheek and jaw. “Don’t chew the inside of your cheek. If you need to cry, let yourself cry. No fighting it.”  
  
“It’s not a crying thing. I’m thinking about the s-word.”  
  
“Don’t be sorry. No s-word. Are you hungry at all?”  
  
“Not really yet, but I took my pill yesterday on an empty stomach and had huge regrets about it, so I probably need to eat something.” She wrinkles her nose. “I kind of want to shower first though. Maybe you can make me toast or something while I make myself look less gross?”   
  
“Yes to toast, no to you being gross.”  
  
“It’s not me putting myself down,” she replies. “I need to shampoo my hair – thank God Savvy packed a bottle for me, because I didn’t peek in the shower to see what we have left from the last time we were up here. It’s been at least a week. I know I’ve showered a lot in the past few weeks…multiple times a day, really. I hardly ever bothered with the actual getting _clean_ part though. I would just get wet and stay under the water for as long as I could. Because it was easier…it was easier than spending time with you all.”  
  
“I get it,” Mark murmurs. “I get what you’re saying, I mean.”  
  
Addison closes her eyes. Fresh tears escape anyway. “I’m probably going to cry a little bit now,” she warns, voice cracking.   
  
“Okay,” he says gently. “Then I’ll hug you while you do.”  
  
\------  
  
“Morning, sleepyhead. Oh no…” Derek’s smile fades when he sees Kate is awake and is making soft snuffling sounds under her blanket. He has just knocked and slipped into her room to check on her. Per Mark’s detailed log, Kate is usually up around eight on weekends, and it’s pushing nine now. But there are tears, Derek sees. No wonder she hasn’t gotten out of bed yet. “Not sleepyhead…sad-head.”   
  
It’s not meant as a joke; it’s truly the first observation that pops into Derek’s head when he sees her rubbing at her eyes. Still. It has to be one of the dumbest things he has ever said. But then he remembers something of significance and cuts himself some slack. Derek adores Kate in a way he initially never thought he could, but her father _is_ Mark. Her bar for humor is probably fairly low, considering the jokes she is used to hearing. And Kate, to her credit and his assessment, does giggle at _sad-head_.  
  
“Where’s Meredith?” Kate asks, pushing up to a sitting position.   
  
“Taking a shower. She’ll be out soon,” Derek answers as he takes a seat next to her. He gently smooths a hand over the creases and flyaway strands currently making up Kate’s fiery red locks. _Also possibly barfing in your mom and dad’s shower, if the last few days are any indication_. “And your brother is still sleeping. What’s wrong though? Why are you a sad-head?”  
  
“I miss Mommy. And Daddy,” Kate adds after a beat, because it is true, but she really, really misses her mommy right now. _Old Mommy_. “But I ‘specially miss Mommy.”  
  
“I know you do. You’ll get to FaceTime with them later today though. And remember Sav, Weiss, Andrew, and Emily are going to come over? It’ll be a good day. I know you miss your mom and dad, but we’ll still have fun today.”  
  
“Is Mommy better yet?”   
  
“I don’t know, Kate. Sometimes for things like this, it takes a little time. She might not be all the way better yet, but she’s _getting_ better. You know how sometimes you accidentally get hurt? Like when you fall and scrape a knee or an elbow or something?”  
  
Kate exhales dramatically and points out a fading scrape on her left knee. Derek has to squint to see it at first, but there is definitely healing skin forming at the edges of the pinkish mark.   
  
“How’d you get that?”  
  
“Tag at recess. I was trying to get away from Riley and I tripped.”   
  
“It looks like it’s almost gone now. I bet the boo-boo used to look worse, right?”  
  
“Yeah. I wore a purple Band-Aid and Daddy put cream on it. Now it’s almost invisible again.”  
  
“That’s kind of what’s going on with your mom right now. It’s like her brain fell and got hurt. And when that happens, it’s like a scrape. It takes a little time before the owie goes away. So right now your mom is getting lots of rest and taking a special medicine. She’s going to get better, Kate. I’m a brain doctor and brains are just kind of tricky, so sometimes it takes a little time for them to get better.”  
  
Kate shakes her head. She _does_ believe him, but she remembers something else about brains that her mom once told her. “Mommy says brain surgery isn’t that hard.” She thinks her mommy meant it as a joke, and that _has_ to be right, because Derek does laugh when Kate tells him this.   
  
“Your mom _would_ say that,” Derek smirks. “I promise you though. Even if brain surgery isn’t hard, I still know a lot about brains. And your mom’s brain is going to get better. Now, let’s get up and get dressed. We’ll have breakfast, and then if you want to play catch, we can go to Central Park. And if Henry is awake, he and Meredith can come with us.”  
  
“Will you throw me ground balls, too?”  
  
“Absolutely.”  
  
\------  
  
Addison does end up feeling less loopy after a warm shower. When she sits down for breakfast though, she feels a flash of anger at the oval green pill Mark has carefully laid out on a napkin next to her breakfast. Anger towards the pill itself, of course, but also anger towards her husband. She had the same thought when Mark asked if she needed any help when she got out of bed to hop in the shower: _I am not an invalid_. And now this. _I don’t want you to be in charge of my medication_.   
  
“I need to say something,” she says quietly. The bottle of Zoloft is on the kitchen table, which meant Mark grabbed it off her nightstand and probably did not have a chance to bring it back upstairs. It’s not like he’s trying to be controlling about this, but it still just… _stop right there_. _Use your words. Nice words_. “I’m trying to do the Vermont thing. The polite, not rude Vermont thing. I. Well. You don’t think I’m going to _not_ take the medication, right? Or that I’m going to pull an Esther Greenwood and take a nap in the crawl space after swallowing the contents of the bottle?”   
  
Mark shakes his head. “No to the first, and no to the second, although I have no idea who Esther Greenwood is.”  
  
“ _The Bell Jar_. I brought it up because if you’re _not_ worried about those things, I’d like to be able to get the day’s pill out of the bottle myself. I know you’re just trying to be helpful, but it’s making me feel like a baby and a loser. And I know there isn’t much about this I can control, but this is a small thing I _can_ control, so. I want to be in charge of this.”  
  
“Okay. I understand,” Mark replies. “I’m sorry, Addison. I wasn’t thinking about it that way. Are you…are you mad at me?”  
  
A slow smile teases her lips up, and this one actually does reach her eyes. “Not a fair question. I am _always_ mad at you.”  
  
Mark chuckles in response. “Hey, you made a joke.”  
  
“Yeah, I did. But no, I’m not mad at you…” she loses the rest of her thought as she watches Mark – with no explanation – twist and pop the lid off the pill bottle, and put the pill in front of her back inside the bottle. He then slides the bottle over.   
  
“Now you can pick a new one for today.”  
  
“You’re so stupid,” Addison says with a giggle and another smile. She appreciates this gesture though. “But I love you. And thank you for getting what I mean and being patient with me.”  
  
“Sure. I texted Derek while you were in the shower, by the way. The kids are doing well. They’re going over to Central Park right now. Meredith is on baby duty and Derek is going to throw the ball around with Kate. Then Sav and Weiss and the twins are coming over. I was thinking after we finish eating we could take a walk on the beach, and then FaceTime with Kate when we get back. And Henry, if he’s awake.”  
  
Addison nods in agreement. “I would really like that. Did Derek…did he say how Kate is doing? Just. I know things have been different, but normally when I’m not there at night, she -”  
  
“Kate’s good,” he interrupts, lightly squeezing her hand. “Derek said there were no problems with bedtime, and she even slept in a bit today. She’s doing well, Addie. It’s okay. Oh and also, I don’t know where it’s coming from, but Derek said that if he can get Kate to commit in writing to one day becoming a neuro surgeon, he’ll happily pay for med school.”  
  
“Ew.”  
  
Mark smirks. “Yep. Somehow I knew that would be the response. You’re the only person I know who would be _disappointed_ if your kid went the neuro route.”  
  
\------  
  
“You okay?”   
  
_Don’t_. _Don’t be rude_. Addison is trying to give up on hurtling snarky replies to this question. Not every time Mark asks is directly related to her depression, anyway. He’s just looking out for her. And this time it’s because Addison stops on their way down the sand-splattered steps that divide the stretch of quiet beach from their house. So it’s a valid question.   
  
“I…yeah. I just need a minute.” She hasn’t been outside much lately. And she definitely hasn’t been outside while adjusting to a new medication. Stepping into the blindingly bright sunlight feels vaguely like entering a dream. Everything seems exaggerated, somehow. She takes a few calming breaths, and then jiggles their joined hands to let Mark know she’s ready. Ready-ish.   
  
“How are you feeling?” Mark asks a few minutes later when they’re traipsing along the shoreline. It’s too cold to remove their shoes and socks and let the foamy water rush over their ankles, but it still feels nice to walk by the water and inhale the rich, salty smell drifting off the sunlit waves. Even Addison seems a little comforted by the walk. “About getting used to the medication, I mean.”  
  
Grains of sand kick up around them as Addison comes to an abrupt halt. She scowls. “Today is only my third day taking the pill, Mark. I’ve been on it for like six _minutes_. Most patients don’t feel any sort of relief for -”  
  
“I meant as far as side-effects.”  
  
“Oh.” She stares down at her feet. “I already have the agitation one locked down, apparently. Sorry.”  
  
“It’s okay.”   
  
“I’m experiencing nausea; it’s worst in the morning. Then there’s some…numbness. And sleepiness. And a weird amount of yawning. None of it’s pleasant, but it could be a lot worse, I guess.”  
  
“What’s the numbness like?” He asks quietly, wanting to understand.   
  
“I don’t know how to explain it. Maybe numbness isn’t even the right word, because I can still cry and feel things – as you know. It’s more just like, who I am right now. I don’t feel all the way _real_. I’m not myself, but I also haven’t become someone else yet. I…I know it sounds weird. That’s probably the best way I can describe it right now,” Addison says. “And then the other s-word side-effect is yet to be determined. You know. Sex.”  
  
“What about sex?”  
  
“Loss of sex drive. Loss of ability to orgasm. And _don’t_ – don’t make a sleazy comment about you being able to make me climax regardless of what SSRIs are pumping through me.”  
  
Mark shakes his head. “I was only going to say sex isn’t the priority right now. Getting you better is. Besides, this has never just been about sex, Addison.”  
  
“It’s also never just been about serotonin deficiencies, yet here we are. I’m sorry – I’m not trying to snap. I – I just. I’m just frustrated.” She blinks hard, feels her knees weaken. Mark curls his free hand around her elbow to steady her. _Shit_. “And…and now I’m kind of dizzy. Also a side-effect. And probably karma for being a bitch.”  
  
“You’re not being a bitch. But yeah, I can tell – your face is losing color, too.” Mark rearranges his hands on her waist, and tugs her back a few steps, guiding her further away from the water. “You’ll be okay. Let’s just sit down for a bit until it passes.”  
  
He gingerly helps her get down in the sand, and then settles in behind her, coaxing her back against his chest and stretching his legs outside of hers.  
  
“You’re just trying to feel me up, aren’t you?” Addison manages a small smile when Mark loosely wraps his arms around her. But the moment of brief humor slips away and now she just wants to cry again.   
  
“I wouldn’t complain if you wanted me to, but no, I’m not. Lean back and relax.”  
  
“But I…I…”  
  
“Shh. Just rest.”  
  
“I’m a _burden_. I’m so fucking sorry. I don’t want to feel this way, but I can’t make myself feel any other way.”   
  
“You’re not a burden to me, Red. And of course you don’t want to feel this way…no one does. Now close your eyes and rest for a few minutes. Trying to talk through the lightheadedness isn’t going to help. Tell me to ‘fuck off’ in your head if you need to, and don’t hold back if you need to cry, but I’m politely asking you to stop with words for a few minutes while I hang on to you.”  
  
Addison manages a small nod and grudgingly follows his instructions. Dizziness aside, she does note that it is kind of nice out. Somewhere in the low fifties, but the sun is out, the breeze is surprisingly calm at the moment, and she really does like being in Cape Cod – she feels a little less guilty being sad _here_ than at home. Tears and light sniffles still accompany these observations, but she stays quiet, focusing on the sounds of waves breaking and Mark’s comforting words threading through her ears.  
  
“Better,” she decides after a few minutes. She moves her fingertips along her cheekbones, ridding them of moisture. “Things are less spotty. Do I have permission to talk now?”   
  
Mark smirks at the trademark sassiness pushing through. “Yes.”  
  
“I didn’t tell you to ‘fuck off’ in my head, for the record.”  
  
“Wouldn’t be the first time if you did though.”  
  
“True,” she grins. “Did you bring your phone with you? I…I kind of want to see the pictures of the kids that Derek sent you.”  
  
Mark hands her the phone and watches as Addison swipes through the most recent pictures. A Meredith and Kate selfie. Kate and Henry lying together on Henry’s activity gym, faces slightly obscured by the hanging toys on top of it. Derek with both kids – holding Henry, and Kate peeking over Derek’s shoulder at her brother. A close-up of Henry gazing at the camera with a serious expression, lips slightly parted. Addison stares at the last picture the longest.   
  
She has exposed a sense of humor and smiled at various points today, and Mark can just _feel_ the subtle inflation of liveliness when she looks at pictures of their kids. There is still such a long, complicated road ahead and the pain Mark is seeing her go through feels like it is going to crack his heart wide open, but there have been moments of optimism today, moments where he has caught a glimpse of the woman she was before depression unfairly cloaked over her.  
  
“He’s such a beautiful baby,” Addison comments when she hands Mark back his phone. “Kate was a beautiful baby too – just stunning, really – but this boy belongs on the front of a damn Gerber jar.”  
  
“Definitely. Kate is like ninety-five percent you, but he’s more of a combination of both of us – I see both of us, at least, and some of Kate’s features. It’s kind of my hair color, minus the salt-and-pepper. Mine was like that at his age though, sort of between blond and brown, and -”  
  
“Caramel,” she interrupts. “Like a light caramel. That’s what his hair color reminds me of at the moment. And he…he has my eyes, right?”  
  
“He does. Beautiful eyes.”  
  
Addison inhales nervously, not sure if she is ready to hear the answer to her next question. “Has Henry…has he smiled yet? A true social smile? I know I should know, but -”  
  
“He hasn’t. Maybe he’ll save that milestone until we get back.”  
  
“I just have to keep telling myself that there are so many things ahead for him,” she says quietly. “That I’ve missed some things, but not _all_ the things.”  
  
“That’s right.”  
  
“I think we can head back to the house now. And when we get back there, I think – I think I’m ready to FaceTime with the kids.” A lightness fills Addison’s chest at the possibility of talking with Kate, and getting the chance to bond with Henry one day. It is not happiness, not even close, but it feels like hopefulness. The edges are a bit softer right now.  
  
\------


	49. From Way Across the Sea

**Chapter 49. From Way Across the Sea**  
  
Mark sends a group text to Derek, Meredith, Savvy, and Weiss when he and Addison get back to the house, essentially asking which friend is the responsible, on-duty one at the moment. He assumes they are all together, but he honestly wouldn’t blame any of them if there are ongoing rock-paper-scissors battles to determine who is in charge of keeping Henry alive and ensuring the Trio isn’t causing too much destruction.   
  
He chuckles when a response arrives from Savvy: _Mostly Emily. We’re all here though. Give me a few secs to bring Kate to a quieter room. H is sleeping._  
  
“Hey,” Mark says when Addison comes into the living room with a glass of water for each of them. “Ready when you are. So is Kate. Henry is sleeping, but we can try again later. Everyone is at the house, but there have been some implications made that Emily is the most responsible one there.”  
  
“That kind of makes sense to me.”  
  
Mark frowns with concern when Addison sits down at the other end of the couch, too far away to share a screen with him. “Oh. Addie, if you don’t want…do you not feel ready? It’s okay if you’re not, but -”  
  
“No, I’m ready,” she answers quickly. “But I’ll stay over here until…it’s probably better if you talk to Kate first, and if she asks about me and wants to talk to me, I’ll jump in. I don’t want her to feel like she _has_ to talk to me though. Not after, you know – the yelling. And when I was saying goodbye to her yesterday, she was trying not to cry and she couldn’t look at me.”  
  
“Addison…”  
  
“It’s okay, really.” Addison feels bad for the look of sadness that has floated over Mark’s features, but she is adamant about this. “Even if Kate doesn’t want to say hi, it’ll be nice to hear her voice.” She gives another firm nod and Mark touches the appropriate icon to start up a FaceTime call. They know Addison’s last statement is a lie, of course; she will be gutted if Kate doesn’t want to say hi to her. _But if that’s the case_ , Addison decides, _you deserve it_.  
  
“Daddy!” Kate squeals into the phone. Mark sees Savvy behind Kate in the dining room, just for a moment to make sure the little girl knows what she’s doing (she does), and then the blonde moves out of the background.  
  
“Hi, Katiebee. How -”   
  
“Is Mommy asleep?” Kate interrupts.  
  
“No, she’s awake. She just went to grab a glass of water.” Mark’s eyes briefly flicker over to his wife. “Do you want to say hi?” He smiles happily when Kate gives him a nod so vigorous that her shoulders bounce. Mark curls his fingers, motioning for Addison to join him.  
  
“Hi Kate,” Addison says when she sits down next to Mark and sees her beautiful daughter’s face come into focus. She nearly cries at the genuine sweetness in Kate’s expression – _she’s happy to see me_ , Addison thinks – but she is somehow able to keep it together. “I miss you so much.”  
  
“I miss you too, Mommy. Do you see my hair?” Kate twists awkwardly while holding the phone at several different angles, trying to show off the French braid twisted on the side of her head that streams back to a ponytail. “Meredith did it for me. Just like the braids you do sometimes.”  
  
“I do see it. It looks so pretty, Kate. So how -”  
  
“Are you better yet, Mommy?”  
  
“I’m…I’m getting better, Kate. I’m not _all_ the way better, but I’m getting better. And when we come back, I – I promise I’ll spend more time with you and we’ll read lots of books and…” Addison can feel herself becoming emotional, but Kate hasn’t noticed. Kate isn’t even looking at her anymore, and this does make Addison grin and nudge Mark. Their daughter is thoughtful, but she is also five. She can only FaceTime for so long, especially when playmates are two rooms over. “Hey, Kate? What are you and the twins playing?” Addison asks. Her daughter looks back.  
  
“Building stuff with Magna-Tiles. We made a castle. And I made a butterfly. Derek is trying to make a robot.” Kate lowers her voice. “But it does not look very good.”  
  
“Tell Derek to send me a picture of the robot so I can see how it turns out.” Mark smirks. It can’t possibly be _that_ hard to build one out of magnetic tiles. He will be trying this sometime. “Well, I know you want to go back and play with your friends…”  
  
Kate beams in agreement. “And eat lunch! Aunt Savvy is gonna make us all grilled cheese.”  
  
“That sounds great.” Mark gives Addison a look that clearly states, _let’s have grilled cheese sandwiches for lunch_. “So Mommy and I will call again before bedtime. And we’ll try to call when Henry is awake so we can see him and say hi.”  
  
“Will Mommy talk to Henry, too?” Kate asks.  
  
“Of course,” Mark responds. “We’re both going to talk with you and Henry. But you for longer, since you know how to talk back.”   
  
Kate tilts her head to the side. “But…Mommy doesn’t like Henry.”   
  
These words, as much as Addison does not really care for clichés, take her breath away. It is not said unkindly or accusingly. It is really no different than Kate saying that she doesn’t like the color orange. Or “plain” Cheerios. It is just an honest statement from a child who has no way of knowing how absolutely devastating this was for her mother to hear.   
  
“That’s not true, Kate,” Mark says quickly, trying to keep his voice calm and friendly. “Your mom likes Henry. She likes him just like how she likes you.”  
  
“Oh,” Kate answers, unfazed by the direction of the conversation. “Wait. Daddy, where did Mommy go?”  
  
Mark swallows heavily. He tried to hook his arm around his wife as soon as the words were out of Kate’s mouth, but Addison practically catapulted to the other side of the couch. He steals a quick glance at her before answering. Addison has pulled her legs up and is resting her forehead against her knees. She is whimpering quietly, trying her best to not cry and scream and rip her hair out – which is all she truly wants to do – while Kate is still on the phone.  
  
“Um. Someone just came to the door,” Mark says to Kate. “She went to answer it.”  
  
His daughter smiles. “I bet it’s _Old_ Kate. Can you tell her Young Kate says hi?”  
  
“Yeah, we’ll say hi to Old Kate and Steve for you,” Mark forces a smile. There is a couple in their early sixties two doors down, and the wife’s name is Kate. Mark and Addison were horrified the first time they heard their daughter shout “Hi, Old Kate!” when the Brennans were walking past them on the beach, but “Old” Kate Brennan assured them the nicknames were her idea. “And we’ll call you again before bed. I love you, buddy. And Henry. And so does Mommy.” Mark waits until Kate finds the right button and ends the call.  
  
“Mark.” Addison lifts her head and blinks sadly at him, eyes still overflowing with tears. “Oh, Mark…”  
  
He hastily moves to her side of the couch to pull her trembling form in for a hug. “Addison, she…she didn’t mean it.”  
  
“She _did_ mean it.” Addison starts to cry forcefully into his shoulder. “Not meanly. That’s just what Kate thinks. And I get it. I get why she thinks that.”  
  
“Kate’s only five. Well, six next month – she’d kill me if she heard me say she’s _only_ five. But, Addie…she doesn’t understand how complex this is. You like your son. You love him. And Kate will be able to see that at some point.”  
  
“I don’t…” Addison begins, having to pause to catch her breath when another croaky sob flutters past her lips. “I don’t w-want to be on the second floor.”  
  
“Oh.” Mark’s chin is on top of her head now, so he does not feel the need to mask the look of pure confusion settling on his face. “Okay. That’s fine. We can stay down here.”  
  
“No.” She arches back to look at him, sniffling as she explains. “In Kate’s dollhouse. Before we left I went into her room to say goodbye, and she was playing with her dollhouse. The daddy, daughter, and baby were downstairs, and the mommy character – me – was upstairs in bed. I want…I want to be on the first floor with you guys. I don’t want to be on the second floor.”  
  
Mark cups her cheek, feeling the tears clinging to her skin mist his palm. “Addie, you will be. You’ll be on the first floor with us.”  
  
She droops back onto his chest. “I love my son. I love him because mothers love their children, but I haven’t bonded with him. Because bonding with him…that would imply that I like him and I like spending time with him.”  
  
“The bonding is going to happen. But it’s hard to bond with a kid who is entirely dependent on you when you’re feeling this badly. You already like and love him though. I know you do. It’s just really hard to demonstrate that when you’re hurting this much.”  
  
Addison rubs at her eyes, lashes now dampened and split in triangles. “That first week, when we brought Henry home…I was tired and sore and emotional, but things were good. They were good. And then things just _stopped_ being good. All I know is that one morning I woke up and I wasn’t the same person I was when I went to sleep the night before. I feel like I’m drowning, Mark. My brain is broken and I’m _drowning_.”  
  
“Addison…I know you’re in pain, honey.” Mark rocks her gently in his arms, letting her work through the frustration and sadness continuing to bubble out in tears and jerky shudders. “But I’m not going to let you sink or drown. We’re going to keep your head above water.”  
  
\------  
  
It wasn’t necessarily a _mistake_ to let Addison nap for so long – she needed to sleep. She clocked about six hours after she wore herself out from crying after the FaceTime call, with a brief intermission when Mark woke her up to essentially force-feed her a grilled cheese. And another time when he woke her to see if she wanted to FaceTime to say goodnight to Kate and Henry (she gave him a frightened shake of her head in response, so Mark handled this call solo and told Kate that her mom was sleeping – which was true).   
  
But even _with_ the nap, Addison still needs more sleep. And now it’s two in the morning and she can’t fall asleep and it’s raining. She’s both wired and exhausted, and nothing Mark has done so far is helping her settle down. Each time she sighs and he feels her muscles even start to slightly loosen up, she tightens like a bow again and more crying follows.   
  
“Addison…is there anything else I can do to help you relax?” Mark asks, still rubbing her back. “I can give you a massage if you want.”   
  
More tears collect in her eyes as she shrugs helplessly. “I…I don’t know. I’m sorry. I know _you’re_ tired too, Mark. At least I napped today. You probably didn’t even do that. You don’t have to cuddle with me. You can go to sleep. I’ll just – it’s okay. At some point I’ll drift off.”  
  
“Not gonna happen. I’m not letting you go through this alone.”  
  
“Thank you. But, I’m sorry -”  
  
“Don’t,” he interjects.  
  
“Mark, just listen for a sec,” she says insistently. Her fingernails accidentally sink into one of his shoulders. “Please. The rational part of my brain – not that it’s operating at full capacity – can mostly understand this isn’t my fault and I shouldn’t have to apologize for having depression. That doesn’t erase the feelings of guilt, but I’m just saying I’m sorry because I know this is hard on you too. You’re taking care of me, and before you were doing this, you’ve primarily been the one taking care of our kids. And I haven’t always been very nice throughout this whole experience. So I’m sorry for any pain this has caused you. And exhaustion. I’m sure there’s plenty of that.”  
  
“Oh. Thanks,” he replies quietly. “It’s okay though, Addie. I’m…I’m okay. All I want is for _you_ to be okay. Do you want to take a bath? We could take one together.”   
  
Addison smirks. “Is this because of the ‘drowning’ comment? So you can prove to me that you’re going to keep my head above water because your brain pretty much only works in puns and metaphors?”  
  
“No, but that’s a valid question. I’m just thinking of a bath because it might help you unwind and make it easier to fall asleep. That’s all.”  
  
“Okay. Sure. But Mark, are there…have you been taking pictures of Henry?” A new worry has invaded Addison’s thoughts. She has thought about it on and off throughout the afternoon, but she was either drifting in and out of sleep or crying too hard to communicate it. “Beyond the newborn photo shoot and the ones I took the first week before everything went to shit in my head, I just…are there pictures? One day when things are better, I just want to know that there’s still some sort of proof for weeks two through five. That he was there, even if I wasn’t.”  
  
“Yeah, there’s pictures, Addison. And some videos, too,” Mark answers, stroking her hair, as she exhales in relief. “I definitely haven’t taken as many as I did with Kate – we both went overboard with her, first kid and all – but there’s enough. I have an album on my phone. You’re in some of the pictures too, holding Henry. No matter how depressed you’ve felt for the past three weeks, you loved and liked your son enough to look at the camera and manage a smile. Even though it hurt. Would you like to look at the album while I run the bath?”  
  
Addison nods, feeling a flutter of anticipation move through her.   
  
\------  
  
 _Could you just eat a Big Mac once in a while or something?_ Addison wants to snipe at Mark when she comes into the bathroom after hearing the faucet turn off. She takes in her husband’s shoulders, the hard, ropy muscles of his stomach, and the cut of his hipbones as he moves around the bathroom in just boxers, lighting a few candles on the counter that are at least three years old. His body is just unfairly perfect. And even more unfairly, she knows that Mark really is no stranger to Big Macs. Their daughter loves McDonald’s, after all.   
  
“We had leftover bubbles,” Mark says when he notices Addison standing near the tub. She has pulled her hair up into something he knows is called a “top knot” and is fiddling with the blush pink ties on her bathrobe. Her eyes move from Mark to the foam threatening to spill over the glossy lip of the freestanding tub. “We also have half a bubble bar of Kate’s – I think it was originally a unicorn horn or something that Amelia got for her – and something called a _galaxy_ bath bomb in all these crazy colors, but I went with the boring grownup bubbles. And you know how difficult a decision that was for me. I think the galaxy one even sparkles.”  
  
Addison reveals a thin smile. “And you also went with candles and dimmed lighting.”  
  
“And the rain outside is essentially the equivalent of spa music. But this isn’t a sex thing or potential sex thing, if you’re going to ask that.”  
  
“I was. I’m not that sore anymore, but I’m not…I’m not ready. Fucking, sex, making love – any of it.”  
  
“You really covered it all there,” Mark says, keeping his tone neutral. “It’s just a bath, Addison. And you know I think -”  
  
“I know what you think. I know, okay? But that’s not what I think or what I feel. I still look pregnant. And it would be better if I _was_ pregnant because then I wouldn’t…I wouldn’t feel the way I do right now.” Addison stares at the floor while tears skate down her cheeks. “And all I wanted – before Henry was born I took so many baths, but because I was pregnant I couldn’t take a super-hot one, and now I have the chance, but…” she sighs when Mark opens up her robe and slides it down her shoulders. She is too lost in her sadness and anxiety though to feel self-conscious about being completely, vulnerably naked in front of him for the first time since before Henry was born. _Who cares_. “But I’d – I’d give anything to go back to short, lukewarm baths if it m-meant…if it meant…” she stammers, chest now too tight to continue.   
  
“Come here,” Mark says, hoisting one of his legs and then the other into tub. He reaches out for her hand. “Get in the bath with me. We’re just going to cuddle and you’re going to try to rest.”  
  
Addison complies with his request, mostly out of sheer indifference at this point, and they begin the graceless process of easing down into the water. It’s not exactly a _small_ tub, but it’s not a Jacuzzi either, so they go slowly and ignore the dramatic sloshing of the surface water that threatens to rise above the tub’s porcelain edges. Mark wraps both arms around Addison once they’re stretched out side-by-side, thighs touching. He lets her wiggle around until she has found a comfortable spot on his chest to lay her cheek.   
  
Mark clears his throat. “I’m just now realizing…this is okay, right? With your incision? I know I should have asked that before getting in. Some doctor I am. Why do people let me operate on them?”  
  
“It’s okay, Doctor Sloan.” Addison lets out a short, amused giggle while one of her hands moves through the water to curl around his elbow. “The skin has healed over. I should…I should probably talk to you more about the C-section experience. I have, um. A lot of feelings and guilt about it. Not _because_ it was a C-section, but…I can’t talk about it right now. I don’t have the mental bandwidth and it’ll just make me more upset.”  
  
“Got it. Let’s try tomorrow with that and just rest for right now.”  
  
“This feels…really nice,” Addison admits. _It’s helping_ , she thinks. The water is soothing as it laps against her skin and she feels safe in Mark’s embrace. She inhales deeply. “Will you…Mark, will tell me about Henry? Like…what he’s like. Just talk to me about our son.”  
  
“Oh,” Mark says, and it takes him a moment to push down the tightness that settles in his throat. It’s such a heartbreakingly sincere request. “Yeah, of course. Henry is…he’s amazing. Perfect, really. He loves being held, and he seems to really like people and faces. I know his eye-coordination is still pretty limited at this point, but it always feels like he _sees_ you when you’re holding him. He’ll look up at you with these big eyes – your eyes. It felt intentional from the very beginning with him. He likes his pacifier, but he likes sucking on his thumb more. He loves the squishy toys on his activity mat. And he’s noisier than Kate was. He doesn’t seem interested in testing out his lungs or doing the crying jags like her though – it’s more just like mild fussing or whining when he needs something. But he’s always making all these funny grunts and sighs, and he recently started cooing. He’s a really happy, easygoing kid, Addison.”  
  
Addison’s breath is floaty and warm against his skin when she speaks. “He sounds amazing. And I saw the video of him cooing on your phone. He reminded me of a little dove. I hope – I hope one day soon I’ll be able to _show_ him how much I love him.”  
  
“You will.” He pulls her closer. She is still awake, still anxious, still suffering, but Mark can feel her starting to mellow in his arms.  
  
“Don’t let me drown,” Addison mumbles jokingly at one point, and Mark’s laugh and assurance that he won’t echoes lightly in her ears.  
  
Addison is aware of the sounds, feelings, and movements around her, even as she grows tired. Being cradled in Mark’s arms, and eventually being moved between his legs, still a bit sideways so she can continue pressing her cheek to the warmth of his chest. Every once in a while she gets adjusted by Mark a little so that he can reach out to fiddle with the deck-mounted faucet to add more hot water, but otherwise he is calm and still, just letting her rest. It’s so comfortingly warm. The sleep-inducing smells of lavender and chamomile rise from the water. Something _fresh_ too, she thinks, maybe from the flickering candles. Rain patters outside. Bubbles that have collected on her chest and clavicle fizz. But she is mostly just aware of Mark holding her, loving her.  
  
“Addie?”  
  
She stirs lazily against the plane of his chest. “Hmm?”   
  
“You’re falling asleep. I’m gonna help you stand up and dry off, okay?” Mark would let her stay longer, but he can feel himself starting to nod off, and it would be tremendously shitty not to hold up his end of the ongoing metaphor if she ends up slipping down his chest once he drifts off.  
  
He quickly ties a towel around his waist and then moves on to her. Addison lets him towel her off, marveling at how slowly Mark wipes away the beads of water lingering on the gooseflesh pebbling her skin, before he helps her shrug her robe back on. He rubs his hands up and down her forearms, asking if she’s warm enough. It feels so intimate.   
  
“What?” Mark asks as she looks up at him with a searching expression. She is acting a little fidgety now that she’s dried off, toes curling and straining against the chilled floor.   
  
“Nothing,” she murmurs. “I just…”  
  
He tucks a loosened strand of hair behind her ear. “You just what?”  
  
Addison hovers closer, and he registers her expression as shyness, which makes him realize what she wants and is waiting for. Mark smiles and brushes his lips against hers softly. It has been at least a week. And it’s been even longer that any kiss they’ve shared has been meaningful. He starts to break away first so he can gauge her reaction and honestly just _look_ at her, but Addison stretches forward, lips flaring against his. Mark circles his arms around her waist, drawing her closer. The kisses they’re exchanging are light and tender and slow, but _God_ , this moment matters so much to him.   
  
“Well.” Mark grins when she leans back, breathing faster. “Definitely not nothing. You’re just throwing me a bone because I went with the grownup bubbles and not the other options, aren’t you?”  
  
“Definitely not nothing,” she repeats, skimming her fingertips over her bottom lip. “Or nothing to do with unicorns and sparkly water, at least. I wanted…I just didn’t realize…I didn’t realize how much I missed doing that with you.”  
  
“You’re incredible, you know.”  
  
“With clothes or without?” Addison is tired and still feels a bit loopy from having been nudged awake, but she cannot help flirting right now. The air feels different around them. That. And maybe something in her is different, too. It’s not anything definitive, not an _all better now_ switch flipped. But it’s something. A wound in subtle repair. Her hands slide over Mark’s shoulders to clasp together at the base of his neck.   
  
He smiles. “Both, but damn, seeing you naked and having you in a warm, confined space with me…I’m glad I’m not young anymore and that I have some level of self-control because if I were sixteen again and you were between my legs like that -”  
  
“I’m not liking the implications of me being in a bathtub with a sixteen-year-old.” Addison shakes her head and tries not to laugh or groan. “Even if the sixteen-year-old in this scenario is yourself.”  
  
“Sorry. You get what I mean though, right?”  
  
“About you managing to not respond like a horny teenage boy while we were in the tub together, dummy? Yep, got it.”  
  
Mark leans down to kiss the bridge of her nose after she has understandably rolled her eyes at him. “No, that’s not…of _course_ this is my fault because I’m dumb and inappropriate and easily distracted by your curves and am therefore explaining this terribly. I just mean…you’re hanging in there and you’ve smiled and laughed a couple times. So I just want you to know I see that. You might not feel better yet, but I’m seeing little signs that it’s getting more manageable for you, Addison. And that’s incredible. That’s the incredible thing. _You’re_ the incredible thing.”   
  
“Oh,” Addison says softly. “Thank you.” A smile tugs at the corners of her mouth. “I don’t want to have to go through this. I don’t want _anyone_ to have to go through something like this, especially after having a baby, because it should be such a joyous time. But if I do have to go through this – since I _am_ going through this – I’m glad I have you with me.”   
  
She lifts her chin, and it doesn’t take Mark but a moment to understand she wants to be kissed again before they go to bed.   
  
\------


	50. Debris of Your Former Self

**Chapter 50: Debris of Your Former Self**  
  
They fall asleep a little past three in the morning, and Addison sleeps _well_. Mark thinks so, at least. She is still asleep, but she seems considerably less restless than she has been lately. He wakes up first, eyes zeroing in on the clock on her nightstand – _8:41_. He doesn’t feel like he’ll be able to fall back to sleep, so he leaves a kiss on her cheek – smiling when her lips twitch a bit at the contact – and shifts away from her. She’s a bit warm – sweaty as a meds side-effect, Mark assumes, and although he doesn’t mind so much, Addison probably would like to wake up without feeling even more like a furnace from his body heat.   
  
Mark reaches for his phone to check for updates from their babysitting cavalry. There are some new notifications from the group text he’s in with Savvy, Weiss, Derek, and Meredith. There are two recent pictures of Henry sent from Meredith, and a more detailed message from Savvy from about an hour ago: _Morning! Happy Monday (hate myself for saying that). All good here. Lauren just left with the big kids. I’m going in to work late, so I’m hanging at your place for a bit to give Derek and Meredith a break. Also I messed up and forgot the twins have a dentist appt. after school so I’m going to grab them and Meredith and Derek will pick Kate up. I hope everything is going okay with you and Addie._ ♥  
  
_Thank you,_ Mark texts back. _Things are going okay. I think she’s improving._ Saying this of course prompts a lot of enthusiastic, supportive responses and emojis.  
  
It feels true though, Mark reflects as he busies himself with playing some Tetris on his phone and then mindlessly working through a few sports apps to pass the time. Everything about helping Addison navigate her way through this pain is raising insecurities in him that he cannot say out loud – _am I doing enough? Am I saying the right things?_ – but at the moment, Mark is cautiously optimistic about how Addison is responding to the medication, and more significantly, that she has time to just rest and begin processing what has been going on with her the past few weeks.  
  
“Try going into the third period with a lead just _once_ ,” he mutters after checking out the NHL standings. “Piece of shit.”  
  
“That’s not a very nice thing to call the love of your life,” Addison murmurs, voice sounding playful.  
  
He winces, glancing over. “Oh, crap. Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you. I’m just grumbling about the useless Rangers.”   
  
“I’ve been awake for a few minutes. I’m just trying not to move. Roller coaster nausea. As soon as I’m able to stand though, I’m going to shower. And shave my legs. It’s, um, been awhile.”  
  
“Same here,” he says, which makes her laugh. “Can I get anything for you?”  
  
“No, it’s okay. Just lie here with me while I wait for death to come.”  
  
“Addison…”  
  
“Sorry,” she grins weakly. “I know it was too dark, given the state I’m in. Just lie with me and don’t poke me in the stomach. Not that you would, but. Have you been awake long?”   
  
“Not too long,” Mark answers, curling in behind her and draping an arm over her waist. “I got some updates from the group. Lauren dropped the kids off at school, and Derek and Meredith are going to pick Kate up. How are you feeling? Other than the nausea, I mean.”  
  
She sighs. “I’m not sure, honestly. Last night…I went to bed feeling good. Well, I guess ‘better’ – a little better – is the more accurate word. I felt like I slept well, too. But I woke up and I’m just…I’m not worse than I was yesterday morning, but I’m also not as good-better as I felt when we went to bed last night. It’s just…confusing. And frustrating.”  
  
“You know there will be ups and downs. Plus, today will only be your fourth day taking the medication.”  
  
“Yeah, I know,” Addison responds with a small grimace. “I was kind of hoping I could just be the magical unicorn exception or something.”  
  
“I know. I wish you could be, too. Keep hanging in there though. It’ll get better. Hey…Addie? You mentioned last night that you have a lot of feelings about having had a C-section. Can you…can tell me about it? I’d like to know.”  
  
“Oh, yeah,” she sighs, knowing he wouldn’t forget, and knowing she needs to share this. It’s taking up too much space in her head. “I just…emotions play a strong role during labor. There’s a term for it: emotional dystocia. It was hard after losing my dad, and I was also nervous during labor with Henry – way more nervous than I was with Kate. And when physical and emotional stress increase, it can slow or stop the labor process. So I’ll always wonder if my fear and anxiety – the stress hormones – is what led to a C-section. And it wasn’t the end of the world to have to have one…it’s just that, while there’s no single _cause_ for Postpartum depression, there are factors that can contribute to it. And having a childbirth experience that didn’t go according to plan and fatigue from said experience can be factors. I know it’s not my fault, but…sometimes it feels that way. It felt like I was failing my son before he was even born.”  
  
Mark kisses her temple. “And you know I’m gonna say it’s _not_ your fault. You hung in there for as long as you could before we had to get Henry here in an alternate way. You were really brave, too, no matter how scared you might have been. And Henry was loved from the second you held him, Addison. You were tired after he was pulled out, so I don’t know how much you remember right after he got here, but -”  
  
“I remember. I _was_ tired. But I mainly just remember the love I felt for Henry when he was placed on my chest. I just…I kept whispering his name, over and over. And you were kind of supporting both of us with your hands, and while I was being stitched up it felt like it was just the three of us in the OR. It felt like a dream, actually. A perfect dream. I loved Henry so intensely during that time. And I remember we both laughed because it took him like all of ten seconds to latch – he liked food from the very beginning. I wish I could have bottled up that feeling, that it could have stayed with me. I was bonded with him in that moment, but then after a week, the bond just…it just faded.” Addison bites her lower lip and feels her cheeks burn with shame. “I wasn’t overwhelmed with love for him anymore. I loved Henry, but not like _that_. I was mostly just overwhelmed with how horrible I felt. And to have those kinds of thoughts when there’s a beautiful, healthy baby next to you who you very much wanted, it breaks your heart. It’s just that, you never really think as far as broken hearts go, that you’re capable of breaking your _own_ heart.”  
  
Mark nods. “I’m really sorry you felt this way about his birth. And after. But Addison…it doesn’t make you a bad mom because the bonding is taking a little longer for you. That initial feeling you felt – you can have that again. It’ll happen. It’ll happen when you’re feeling _well_. You need to take care of yourself before you can be more present for him.”  
  
“I just feel so embarrassed, Mark.” Addison can feel her voice shaking. “And guilty. And inadequate. And I…I know shouldn’t feel these things, but…” she can sense some of the nausea easing up, so she pushes around to face him. She buries her face beneath his chin.   
  
Mark sighs in sympathy and brushes her cheek with his thumb, smoothing away some of the tears. “It’s hard to help the way you feel though. What you’re going through is an illness, not a personal failure or character flaw, but I know it doesn’t feel that way to you.”  
  
“Right. I’m working on it though. You know, that thing you were saying about Henry’s eyes being so big and focused – well, I noticed that, too,” Addison inhales tensely. “Pretty quickly. Every time I held him and he looked up at me, he just seemed so…wide-eyed and serious. When he looked at me, it was like he was seeing right through me, and it scared me because I was trying so hard to be happy and it felt like he knew I wasn’t. I know it’s ridiculous since he’s a baby, but I honestly thought…that’s just how I _felt_. And staring back at him made me feel so insecure and raw. Especially while breastfeeding. It was just…too much. Him looking at me was too much. Him needing me was too much. So it was easier to devote more time to Kate. Before I snapped at her, I mean. I already know Kate. We already have a bond and relationship. And it’s different with Henry. I – I don’t know if this even makes sense, but that was how I felt.”  
  
“I get it. And I’m so sorry you’ve been feeling this way.”  
  
“So am I. And there’s more, but I just…I think I’ve hit my limit this morning,” she admits, feeling her throat constrict further. “I…I just…”  
  
He hugs her more firmly. “It’s okay. No more this morning. When you feel ready, do you want to take a shower while I make you something to eat? We don’t have many options left, but there’s always toast. Oh, and we still have some bananas.”  
  
“I think I’ll just shower tonight, actually. And toast and a banana is fine. Oh,” she adds. “After we have breakfast and take a walk, can we put on Netflix or something? Netflix and pill.”  
  
He smirks when she pulls back to look at him. “Addison…”  
  
“Come on. That was a little funny.”  
  
“It was. Not that it really means anything if _I_ think something is funny.”  
  
“Good point.”  
  
\------  
  
Kate frowns when Ms. Hughes, the teacher’s aide, holds up the book for afternoon story time. She can’t quite make out the title from where she is sitting, but she can see the picture on the front and it’s one of the _Little Critter_ books. She doesn’t like these ones. She thinks they are kind of boring. The characters don’t have real names. And it really bothers her that there isn’t an _answer_ for what kind of animals the critters are supposed to be. She and Daddy think hamsters. Mommy thinks wombats.   
  
She scoots around on her carpet square until her back is to Ms. Hughes. Kate can tell that Emily – sitting next to her – is peeking over at her in confusion.  
  
“Kate?” Ms. Hughes calls out pleasantly from the chair she is seated in. “Can you please face forward? I’m about to start the story.”  
  
“I don’t want to read that one,” Kate says, not turning around. She crosses her arms in protest. “It’s for _babies_. Not kindergartners.”  
  
“Okay. I’m sorry this isn’t one you want to read, but I need you to turn around. You can just sit quietly if you don’t want to hear the story.” Ms. Hughes pauses, but Kate doesn’t move an inch. “Please turn around, Kate.” Ms. Hughes succeeds in making eye contact with Mrs. Wilson, the teacher. They both got an email from Kate’s dad over the weekend, so they understand things are tough at home right now. This outburst is still a little unexpected just because it’s coming from _Kate Sloan_ of all kids, but at the same time, it does make sense.   
  
Kate feels Emily give her a light nudge with her elbow. But this is a stupid – silly and stupid – book and she doesn’t want to read it. She doesn’t want to turn around, even though she knows she is being bad. Ms. Hughes asked her nicely. And Kate _likes_ Ms. Hughes. But she doesn’t want to sit in the circle and hear about the critter family.   
  
“ _No_ ,” Kate says hotly in response to Ms. Hughes’s request. It is mean and she should not act this way at school – she knows better – but she cannot help it. Mrs. Wilson starts to walk over from the other side of the classroom, and Kate looks up at her teacher.  
  
“No,” she repeats again, and the fifteen other little children gathered in a circle squirm and wiggle, partly intrigued and partly just uncomfortable. Kate _never_ gets in trouble. Yes, like everyone else she needs to be reminded once in a while to raise her hand or _eyes on me_ , but she is nice to everyone and has never said _no_ to Ms. Hughes or Mrs. Wilson. None of them have.  
  
Kate decides that she just wants to go home. Even though Mommy and Daddy aren’t home.   
  
\------  
  
“Hey,” Mark greets in acknowledgement when Addison makes her way downstairs, fresh from an early afternoon bath. “I’m texting with Derek. Meredith is on her way to get Kate from school. Henry woke up and he’s been changed and fed, if you want to FaceTime with him.”  
  
Addison nods nervously from the bottom of the stairs. “Yeah. I’d like to. Do, um. Do you want to do it on the porch swing? It’s kind of nice out today.”  
  
“If you put something warmer on, then yes,” he says, sounding like _such_ a parent. She knows it too, and smirks.  
  
“I’m…” Addison glances down at her attire. Boots, jeans (maternity), and a sweater. It’s arguably the nicest she has looked in weeks, but that wasn’t what Mark was getting at. And it is kind of a thin sweater. And it is only early March and they are right by the water. “Okay, fine. I’ll go grab my coat – it’s upstairs. You can start the call, since it’ll take Derek a sec to get it set up so we can just see Henry’s face, and that also gives you time to warn him in advance that there is going to be baby talk.”   
  
She quickly retrieves her wool coat, feeling surprised at how much _easier_ it has become to make it up and down the stairs. For weeks it felt like the physical soreness would never ease up, which definitely didn’t help with how she was doing mentally and emotionally. Addison then makes her way outside, grinning when she hears Mark indeed engaging in baby talk. Henry is babbling in the background.  
  
“Hey, Henry,” Mark says, smiling when he sees Addison. “Here’s your mommy,” he holds out his arm and Addison cuddles into his side.  
  
“Hi sweet boy,” she says softly when Henry comes into view. He focuses on her face, kicking with his arms and legs. He is situated on Derek’s lap, and seems content while blinking up at her. Addison feels a flutter move through her chest. _He sees me. He knows me_. “I…I miss you, little one. I hope you’re having a fun time with all your grownup friends, Henry. Daddy and I will be back in a few more days. I love you.”  
  
Addison glances at Mark now, and he nods in understanding, because he is definitely feeling something similar. There is really only so much one can say to a baby over FaceTime. He watches as Addison stands up and goes back inside – it was hard to read the expression on her face when she got up.  
  
“He recognized me,” Addison says quietly when Mark comes back into the house after exchanging a few words with Derek and then ending the call. “Like, the sound of my voice. And my face.”  
  
Mark sits down beside her on the couch. “Yeah, he did.”  
  
“But I didn’t…” she breathes out shakily. “I didn’t recognize him though. Henry’s _voice_ , I mean. I think if I closed my eyes and just listened to the babbling and cooing noises…that could have been anyone’s baby. I could have picked Kate’s cries and sounds out of a baby lineup while blindfolded. But not…not Henry. I didn’t recognize his sounds.” The tears come quickly and aggressively now. “I feel like I’m not getting better.”  
  
“Yes, you are,” Mark says, wrapping both arms around her. “You have to keep hanging in there though. Hey.” He brushes his lips soothingly to her temple. “You talked to your son today, Addie. You made eye contact and engaged with him. That’s huge.”  
  
She manages a teary nod. “Yeah. I…I guess so. I made a list in my head, you know. Of things I need to do each day. Easy, doable things. Get out of bed. Shower daily. Take my medication. Eat three meals a day. Take a walk on the beach. FaceTime with Kate and Henry. It’s not much, but I know for the time being, just getting through the day and continuing to breathe should be an accomplishment.”  
  
“That’s right. And you’ve pretty much knocked everything off your list today. We’ll call Kate later, and we’ll have dinner later. Plus, you took a bath – so essentially a shower – and you said you were going to shave your legs while you bathed,” Mark grins. “That’s, like, a _bonus_ accomplishment.”  
  
“I had a bonus accomplishment today,” Addison repeats, smiling slowly. It is hard. _All_ of it is hard. But the support of her husband makes it a little easier to bear. “Maybe…maybe I could do one more bonus thing today.”  
  
“What are you thinking?”  
  
“Food shopping. I kinda want to have to have pizza for dinner, but we definitely need to get some more stuff. Maybe we could do that now, and then when we come back we can call Kate? By the time we get back from the store, she’ll be home from school.”  
  
“Yeah.” He helps her to her feet. “Two bonuses today.”  
  
\------  
  
Meredith heads solo into the Kindergarten classroom for pick-up, smoothing out the visitor badge sticking on her coat, again thankful for the pick-up protocol Lauren briefed her on. Henry was sleeping when it was time to go get Kate, so it seemed easier to just have him stay home with Derek. And having a little time to herself or whatever on the walk to Kate’s school was kind of nice. Meredith had been to New York City a few times growing up, and was distinctly unimpressed with each visit. She didn’t _hate_ it, but she was also glad to just be passing through. It is loud and overcrowded. And smelly. It is hard to picture Derek – so outdoorsy and into walking the trails surrounding their McDream home – having a life here in New York. Granted, it was also hard to picture Derek with a New York _wife_ , but that’s neither here nor there at this point.  
  
Meredith frowns when she sees Kate wearing her backpack and holding hands with her teacher. The other students being picked up are chatting happily with their parents or their nannies – hard to say which. Not Kate though. The little girl is looking at the floor, positively shame-faced, although the teacher – _Mrs. Wilson_ , Meredith remembers from a previous conversation with Savvy – looks perfectly pleasant and friendly.  
  
“You must be Meredith,” Mrs. Wilson says, holding out her free hand. “I’m Noelle Wilson. It’s nice to meet you. Kate had kind of a tough afternoon.” She quietly fills Meredith in about story time. Once the meltdown started, Mrs. Wilson grabbed a book she knew Kate liked, brought Kate away from the circle, and read to her out in the hall while the little girl sat in her lap, rubbing at her eyes and sniffling.   
  
Kate is staring at her shoes, but she hears Mrs. Wilson say her name, and then both Mrs. Wilson and Meredith are kneeling in front of her.  
  
“Kate…” Mrs. Wilson tries again.   
  
Kate sucks in a nervous breath. “Are you going to tell my mommy and daddy?” Kate asks. “Mommy is sick. She is sad and I don’t want to make her be more sad.”  
  
“No, sweetheart. It’s okay,” Mrs. Wilson pulls her in for a hug. “Tomorrow is a new day though, and I want you to try harder to use your listening ears when Ms. Hughes is talking to you, and to follow directions. How about when you come in tomorrow morning, you pick out a book for Ms. Hughes to read in the afternoon?”   
  
Kate nods at this suggestion, still a little upset and embarrassed, and then lets go of Mrs. Wilson so she and Meredith can go home. She said sorry to Mrs. Wilson when she was sitting outside with her reading _Not Quite Narwhal_ , and Mrs. Wilson said it was okay and she just said it was okay _now_ , too, but Kate still feels bad because she knows she was not being a good girl.  
  
“Hey, Kate?” Meredith asks when they step outside the school. She could just as easily pull up Yelp on her phone, but figures she might as well ask the native New Yorker first. “Which way should we go if I wanted to take you to get ice cream?” She smiles when Kate glances up, eyebrows furrowed in surprised. “It was a tough day. That happens to all of us. I think that calls for some ice cream.”  
  
Kate smiles and points in the direction of a place that she knows is just two blocks up.   
  
\------  
  
“I kind of want to add another daily thing to my list,” Addison tells Mark that night as she watches him get into bed. She cried a little that afternoon about Henry, and _wanted_ to cry that evening while talking to Kate. Her daughter looked perfectly happy while chatting with her and Mark, telling them about what games she played at recess, who was Student of the Week, and that she got ice cream after school with Meredith. Addison misses her though. And Henry, too. Just…Henry a little less. She saved the waterworks until after they ended the call with Kate, and tearfully confessed this to Mark, who gave her a hug and rubbed her back and assured her it was okay.   
  
But otherwise, it was a surprisingly okay day. They went grocery shopping. They took a walk on the beach. They had pizza for dinner. They cuddled on the porch swing for a bit after dinner, until it got too cold. They watched some Netflix (now that Addison is more properly awake, she has determined that “Netflix and Pill” really isn’t that clever).   
  
“What do you want to add to your list?” Mark asks while positioning his pillow next to hers and scooting closer.   
  
“Well, it’s not, like, a task, because I want to do it. I know that’s a weird disclaimer, but…” she presses her lips together, vaguely uncomfortable, even though she knows Mark will be anything but. “I want to add ‘make out with my husband’ to the list.”  
  
Mark grins. “I wasn’t sure where you were going with that one, but I’m glad it’s _not_ a task, because I don’t want you to feel like you _have_ to do any physical stuff to combat against a low libido or anything.”  
  
“I actually haven’t felt anything like that,” she admits. “Not yet, at least. Last night, when we kissed for a bit…that was…it was good, right? Like it felt good?”  
  
“Hell yeah it did,” Mark says. He scrapes a hand through her hair. “Look, if you’re going where I think you’re going with this – bearing in mind I am wrong about so many things, so you might not be – we had a few similar conversations after Kate was born. Whatever I said then still stands. I’m attracted to you, but I’m not going to jump your bones unless you, like, tell me you want me to. That you’re ready for that again.”  
  
She grins weakly. “After Kate, I mostly remember a few very uncomfortable conversations about lube.”  
  
“I promise to never subject you to a discussion about lube ever again.”  
  
“Thank you. And you’re right. It is a similar discussion to last time. Just this time it goes beyond the physical insecurities…I mean…with how I’ve been acting, I’d understand if you weren’t as interested in being intimate with me. If you were less attracted to me because of all…" she presses her lips together. “All this.”   
  
Mark shakes his head. “Nope. You’re beautiful. And ridiculously hot. None of what you’re going through right now makes me love you any less or changes how I feel about you. I’m a very, very willing participant if you want to add making out to the list. And I won’t hold it against you if that isn’t one you end up wanting to check off the list every day. I definitely want to make out with you though, so don’t ever think what you’re going through affects that. I mean, when I’m _not_ going down on you, I still think about going down on you an unreasonable amount. And having sex with you, of course.”  
  
“God, you’re so gross.”  
  
“Yeah. I knew you’d hate that part.”  
  
Addison sighs gently, relief settling through her. “But thank you for the less graphic words that preceded that. I think I needed to hear it. And I do want to make out a bit tonight. So. Anyway. God…I don’t know why I feel like I need to have a discussion about this…” she blushes. “This is almost more awkward than talking about lube.”  
  
“Not even close, Red. I distinctly remember you shrieked in embarrassment and hid under the comforter when I brought up Astroglide.” Mark cradles her face between his hands, urging her a bit closer. “Now stop talking about lube and just make out with me.”  
  
Addison smiles as he brushes his lips to hers, the kiss slow and tender. Mark curls one hand under her neck, and lightly runs the other back and forth from her hip to the small of her back. It’s mostly just _sweet_ , a gentle exploration of one another as Addison loses herself in the feeling of his lips warming hers and his hand outlining the skin he already knows so well. She pulls back for just a moment, mouth rounding to say something. It has just occurred to her. _Logically_ , she knows this is what is supposed to happen, but now it feels more…attainable. Something is happening.   
  
“What?” Mark asks.   
  
She whispers her answer: “I’m going to get better.”  
  
“You’re going to get better,” Mark says in agreement, drawing her back for another kiss, a little firmer and steamier this time, lips as insistent as the words they just shared with one another.   
  
\------


	51. Breathing’s Just a Rhythm

**Chapter 51. Breathing’s Just a Rhythm**  
  
 _Shower_.  
  
Addison narrows her eyes just to be sure that is what the Post-it note she finds clinging to the abandoned pillow next to her says. And then a slow blink. Yes, correct. She can hear the water from the shower hailing off the mosaic wall tiles anyway, but she appreciates the note. She has been more anxious since breaking down in Mark’s arms on Saturday night, needing him close.  
  
It is still early, but Addison doesn’t think she can fall back to sleep, and determines an alternative course of action. _You can take a nap later_ , she decides, figuring at least part of the drowsiness is medication-triggered.   
  
Steam immediately engulfs Addison when she steps into the bathroom, but not enough to obscure a nice view of her husband in the walk-in shower. He moves languidly behind the tempered glass, fingers digging through his hair.  
  
Mark turns towards her when he hears the sound of the sliding door being opened. Addison leans forward, having cracked the door just enough to poke her head in.  
  
“Hey,” she says, voice lacking most of the shyness she was feeling last night. Mark smiles back at her. “Can I join you?”  
  
“Of course you can. Get your fine ass in here, Red.” He tips his head back, quickly working to rinse the shampoo out of his hair while Addison rids herself of plaid pajama bottoms and a shirt of Mark’s that hasn’t really belonged to him in years. He circles his arms around her waist when she joins him under the spray. “Good morning.”  
  
Her response is a physical one. Mark _thinks_ she verbally returns the greeting, but then her mouth is working along the rough stubble of his jawline, his chin, his neck. Her tongue sweeps away droplets lingering on his collarbone. And her hands – _hands that are incredible and talented not only in the OR_ , _but everywhere_ , Mark knows – are just as intent on exploring his skin. The pads of one set of fingers trail along the back of his neck and lightly scratch at the short ends of his hair. And her other hand is marking dangerously lower territory, at first resting on one of his hips, mild enough, but then ticklishly mapping the muscles of his left thigh.   
  
And then Addison stands on her tip toes to get closer to his ear, voice sweet, but also sultry and hoarse enough that he feels it everywhere below his stomach. “I love you, Mark,” she murmurs.  
  
“I love you, too.” Mark takes a steadying breath, shivering in all this heat. The motion of her fingers gliding from the back of his thigh to the softer, more sensitive skin of his inner thigh makes him inadvertently rock his hips. “But just so you know, if you keep this up, I’m going to have to kick you out and finish this shower by myself,” he jokes, and she giggles. There is another option, of course: that Addison keeps this up and he stays and things get very, very dirty before things get clean, but he can sense she isn’t There yet. She will tell him _when_.  
  
Addison smirks into his collarbone, thinking the same thoughts he is, but still feeling a little flirty. She wasn’t trying to tease him, really she wasn’t. But she definitely doesn’t mind the effect it is having on him. “A cold or hot one?”  
  
“I’m not answering that,” Mark chuckles. “But hey…” he nudges his shoulder against hers. “You’re laughing and you’re smiling this morning.”  
  
“I’m laughing and I’m smiling this morning,” Addison repeats. She settles her head on his chest, and also repositions the hand that was skimming along his thigh up to his chest. She can feel the quickened skip of his heartbeat under her palm. “And I’m also thinking.”   
  
“About?”  
  
“You. And also, waffles.” Eggos was one of the items they picked up at the grocery store yesterday. She doesn’t know if she has reached a turning point of sorts on _Day Five_ or if this is just a lucky fluke on a chilly Tuesday morning, but either way the nausea she has been waking up with is considerably less aggressive right now. She actually _wants_ to eat breakfast. Specifically, waffles.  
  
“I’m technically all finished in here. Do you want me to go put some in the toaster for you? Or stay?” Mark’s tone is neutral enough that while, sure, he has a _preference_ , he doesn’t mind if Addison selects his non-preference.  
  
“Go ahead and go. I love you, but. Right now I might love strawberry waffles a little more.”  
  
“Fair enough,” he says, moving around her to get out of the shower. But not before giving her a light, playful swat.  
  
Addison makes a face of mock disbelief. “Did you just spank me?”  
  
“Yep.”  
  
“I’m going to remember that, Mark Sloan.”  
  
He grabs a towel, grinning suggestively. “I hope you do.”  
  
\------  
  
There is another Post-it on a pillow come Wednesday morning. This time, Mark is the intended recipient. _Out on the porch swing_ , Addison wrote while he was still asleep, after wiggling out from under one of his arms. _Coffee ready if you want some_.   
  
“Hey,” Addison smiles and lifts her chin in greeting – her hands are currently cradling a mug of now-cold coffee – when Mark comes out on the front porch.   
  
“Hey yourself, early bird,” he says. He grips one of the suspended ropes, easing down next to her. Mark suspects, like yesterday, she will need to take a nap in the afternoon, which is fine. He wants her to rest as much as possible. And yesterday was a good day. Some tears, yes, but also sharing, cuddling, and checking off everything on her list. Over FaceTime yesterday evening, Kate showed them a picture she drew of their family, all holding hands. Mark’s first comment after they ended the call was how hilarious baby Henry looked, basically a circle with a face floating in the air while holding hands with Kate. Addison’s first remark, through relieved tears, was that she was glad she was _with_ the family, rather than upstairs or somewhere separate.  
  
Addison waits while Mark gets more comfortable by stretching his legs out and positioning one of the nautical-themed throw pillows behind his back (the Tennises never took the pillows with them when they cleared out everything they wanted furniture-wise, and Mark and Addison have never thought to replace them). And then she leans into his side.   
  
“The first time we came to Cape Cod…” she begins. “There was that one night it was raining hard, and I was having a rough time handling it. Do you remember what you did?”  
  
“This,” Mark answers. “We hung out here on the swing for a while. We cuddled until you felt safer and more relaxed.” He glances out at the gray and white sky hanging over the murky Atlantic. It is for sure moody and overcast, but there is no rain expected this week. “Why?”   
  
“No particular reason. I was just thinking about it. Along with a lot of other things. I swear the thinking-ness is what makes me more susceptible to depression. I don’t know how to _not_ think.”  
  
“You should try it sometime. I don’t have that problem.” He smirks, waiting for Addison to pounce on this obvious set-up.  
  
She laughs. “Oh, believe me. I’m well aware.”  
  
“Tell me what else you’re thinking about,” Mark says, which makes her stiffen. He takes her half-finished coffee from her hands and sets it on the floorboards so he can hold her more properly. She is talking, but that doesn’t necessarily mean it’s easy. Addison droops her head on his shoulder, and he rubs her upper back, waiting for her to share more.   
  
“It’ll be a week on Saturday,” she answers slowly, feeling nervous. “We’ll still get to go back that day, right?”  
  
“Yeah. I promise I’m not going to hold you hostage here.”  
  
“You would love to hold me hostage here if it meant you could go down on me as much as you wanted to.”  
  
Mark chuckles. “You’re trying to make me take a cold shower, aren’t you?”  
  
“Ah, so it would have been a _cold_ shower.”  
  
“I’m in my forties, Red. There’s something just distinctly bummer-y about jacking off in the shower while my really attractive wife is just a room over being all attractive and stuff.” Mark pauses. “Talk to me about the going back thing though.”   
  
“I guess I’m…” Addison hesitates. She has had these thoughts swirling around in her head all morning, but still feels that the language of disclosing them is just going to sound clunky. She inhales deeply and starts again. “I’m trying not to do a countdown to Saturday. I don’t know how I’ll be feeling on Saturday. Continuing to improve, I hope. I’m trying not to think about it, but you know not thinking isn’t an option for me. So I guess I’m just wondering what it will it be like when we’re home. Does that…do you know what I mean?”  
  
Mark thumbs her cheek. “How about you _tell_ me what you think it will be like. Or what you want it to be like?”  
  
“Answering a question with a question,” she says, lips tugging into a smirk. “Now you’re just prepping me for therapy next Thursday.”  
  
“I promise that’s not what I’m doing,” he says. “Do the Vermont thing though. Just try to talk about it. About anything. I’m listening.”  
  
She nods. “Well, I guess, first. You don’t have a return date for going back to work, right? Obviously there’s no return date for _me_ yet, but as far as…I know you already pushed it back and -”  
  
“No return date,” Mark interjects. “I’m not going back until you tell me you’re ready for that. What else?”  
  
“I think I need to have alone time with Henry when we get back. I want you to still be in the house in case I start feeling overwhelmed, but I…if I want my bond with our son to get stronger, I need to hold him and love on him every day. And just…be with him. And maybe we can move Henry’s bassinet to my side of the bed? I think I’m ready for that.”  
  
“Definitely.”  
  
“And then with Kate…I’ll try to sort things out ahead of time in my head if I’m feeling like I need a break and it might be too hard to read with her….and maybe on those nights I can let her know you’re going to read with her instead? Assuming…” Addison temporarily clamps down on the inside of her cheek. “Assuming Kate even wants to read with me anymore.”  
  
Mark squeezes her tighter in reassurance. “She’ll want to read with you, Ad. And that sounds like a good plan. You’re taking care of yourself here, but you need to take care of yourself at home, too. So whatever you need to do, I’ve got your back.”  
  
“Okay. And then my daily list. The location will be different, but some of the things – getting out of bed, showering, taking a walk, eating, connecting with my kids – you’ll help me make sure I do them?” She asks. Mark nods. “Okay. I guess that’s it for now. I’m sure more thoughts and worries will come to me at some point.”  
  
“That’s fine. Just keep talking to me and telling me what you need,” he says. Addison nods and gives him her promise.  
  
\------  
  
It happens Thursday night. Nothing about the day is really all that different from the previous two, but something _happens_. Something happens while they are talking with their children over FaceTime.   
  
Addison interacts with her daughter, truly listening and responding as appropriate, but her eyes keep drifting to Henry, who is propped up between Kate’s legs, with Meredith’s hand occasionally floating into the frame to keep him steady. An _ache_ moves through Addison as she watches Henry wiggle his arms, sometimes lifting his head higher in curiosity at the sound of his sister’s voice. Mostly though, Henry looks at his mother. His lips pull and twist, so close to a smile. And the ache just keeps coming for Addison, tunneling through her veins. It’s how she felt with Kate. A profound ache. The ache a mother has for a child, the way a mother loves and misses a child who is sleeping one room over. _I want to hold you_ , Addison thinks. Her arms practically sting from the absence of Henry’s warm weight.   
  
“Hey…” Mark says gently when they hang up, looking over at her. Tears have started to creep down Addison’s cheeks. “What is it?”  
  
“I felt it.”  
  
“Felt what?”  
  
“ _Something_. When we were talking with them, I was listening to Kate and I was hearing her, but Henry…I wanted…I wanted to hold him. He was looking at me and I was looking at him, and I just want…he’s my baby and I want to hold him. Mark, I want to _hold_ him.”  
  
Mark smiles, giving her a hug. “You will. You will soon.”   
  
“I wanted a second baby,” Addison says after a few minutes, when the strength of the emotions has ebbed. “I didn’t want to actively hope for one though. I knew the odds of conceiving in my forties would be lower, so I just figured if it happened, it happened, and we would be so grateful. And if another baby _didn’t_ happen, Kate would have been enough…and then of course we’d have to get a stupid dog someday.” She takes a deep breath. “And I think that’s part of what made the depression so hard to come to terms with, to accept. With Kate, I didn’t expect to get pregnant, so there was initially shock and panic and I wasn’t certain what I wanted to do. I loved her from the moment we decided to think of her as more than a cluster of cells, but with Henry…there was never any doubt. He was cherished beyond words from the beginning. But then he got here and that wasn’t…I didn’t feel…” Addison chokes out a reedy sob. “I wanted him _so_ much, and then he was here and in my arms and that _want_ for him just wasn’t there.” She can’t say anymore. There is more to share, but not – not yet. This was enough for today. She quiets, lets Mark hold her, tell her loving things, promise everything will be okay.  
  
“You know…” Mark says when Addison has relaxed against him. He knows she could use a laugh. “We’re still gonna have to get a dog someday. No chance Kate lets up on that one. Plus, strength in numbers. She’ll recruit Henry.”  
  
Addison smiles. “Yeah. Henry. My son, Henry. Who I’ll get to hold on Saturday. These are sad tears I’ve been crying tonight, but they’re also…they’re also happy tears.”  
  
“I know. I can tell.”   
  
\------  
  
Addison sits down on Mark’s side of the bed and runs her fingers over his shoulder. She watches as his eyes flap open and he offers her a sleepy smile. Once his vision is less foggy, he can tell from the way she is dressed that she’s planning to go outside.  
  
He also notices that Addison is wearing a little makeup today, but mostly she just looks fresh and _re_ freshed. And while her hair is mostly obscured under a cable knit beanie, he can tell by looking at it that it has the shiny, sheet-straight look that indicates a blow dryer and flat iron were used. Mostly it just floors Mark that he slept through all the noise. She is never particularly quiet while primping.   
  
“Are we out of Post-its?” He teases, pulling her down for a kiss. She doesn’t respond as enthusiastically as she has been the past few days though. “Hey,” he brushes some hair away from her face. “You okay?”  
  
“Yeah. I…I was just going to go sit on the beach. I’m dressed warm enough.” She throws this detail in there, knowing he would bring it up at some point if she didn’t. She taps the side of her beanie, and even peels back the sleeve of her Yale sweatshirt so he can see she has a long-sleeved shirt underneath. And then she pushes her hand more firmly against Mark’s shoulder when he starts to sit up, because she knew this would happen too. “By myself. I want to go by myself. I didn’t want you to worry, because I just – I kind of want to think on my own for a bit. I’m okay. Okay enough, at least. I just need to think some thoughts.”  
  
He nods. “I get it.”  
  
“Maybe you should sleep a bit more?” Addison suggests. His eyes flicker towards the clock. _9:04_. They have joked about the fact that it will be a tough adjustment when they get back home, where alarm clocks actually go off and babies wake up whenever they feel like it. “You look so tired,” she adds. “Handsome-tired. But tired.”  
  
“You’ll come get me though if you need anything?” He asks. Addison is not doing it on purpose, but her rubbing his shoulder is definitely making him sleepier. Mark hears her say _yes_ , but that’s the last thing he remembers.  
  
\------  
  
Mark sleeps until almost 11:30 AM. When he gets up and looks out the window, he can see Addison in the distance, Lilliputian-sized. He wonders if she’s cold, thinking it would be a good idea to bring her a blanket. He considers texting her, but decides to forgo that and just go down to the beach. He can give her the blanket and only quickly interrupt the thoughts she is thinking and then retreat to give her space. Mark doubts she brought her phone with her, anyway. He hasn’t seen it leave her purse since they got to Cape Cod. It’s just been easier for her to shut out that part of her life, and it’s not like anyone who is trying to get ahold of her wouldn’t know how to reach Mark, or even Savvy.  
  
Addison turns slightly when she hears Mark approach, eyeing him over her shoulder when he gets within a few yards of her.

“Hey.” He scuffs his feet in the sand, feeling hesitant. “I, um,” he gestures to the blanket bunched in his arms. “I just wanted to bring you a blanket.”  
  
“Thank you. But you can stay, Mark.”  
  
“Oh.” He shakes his head. “If you need more time for thinking thoughts, then -”  
  
“No.” Addison swallows nervously. “I – I want to talk to you. I’m ready to.” She turns her attention back to the ocean, waiting.  
  
“Okay,” Mark says. He steps forward and sits down, scooting forward and spanning his legs on both sides of her until her back is lightly touching his chest. He drapes the blanket over her shoulders and pulls it around so she is snuggly wrapped under the warm fabric. His hands slide around her chest, gently holding her. He waits patiently, watching the waves roll in and knowing she’ll talk when she’s truly ready.  
  
Addison sighs and opens her mouth slowly, considering for a moment. “I knew,” she whispers. It’s two heartbreaking words; it’s two aching syllables that make Mark tighten his arms around her and cuddle her more firmly against his chest as she keeps talking. “I knew I had Postpartum depression. I couldn’t _not_ know, given my profession. I’m capable of diagnosing women with this and then how ironic is it that…” she shakes her head. “I woke up one morning when Henry was a little over a week old and I knew exactly what was going on with me. And I felt embarrassed and guilty that it was happening to me. I was a person – a mother – who had become a statistic and a victim, a _sufferer_ , of this horrible condition.”  
  
“It’s not your fault, Addie.”  
  
“I know. This just…happens sometimes. I felt so, so guilty when the feelings set in though. Here I was with this beautiful, sweet baby boy, a perfect little girl, and a husband who would and does absolutely anything for me. But I was so unhappy. _Unbearably_ unhappy. I just kept thinking if I tried on my own, maybe I could get better…could be better. I know that isn’t how depression works, but. I kept thinking that maybe, just maybe, I could claw my way out of this without intervention. Because I didn’t _want_ intervention. Because that would mean…it would mean so many things. Feeling depressed is scary, but getting better, because of everything it potentially entails, is _also_ scary. And I didn’t want to talk to anyone about it, especially you, because I didn’t want you to feel responsible or have to shoulder the burden. I was embarrassed this was happening to me, and I also didn’t want you to be mad at me for not being the kind of mom I’m supposed to be. The rational part of my brain knew you _wouldn’t_ have been mad, but that part of my brain went out the window pretty quickly; I was terrified and overwhelmed and everything hurt so, so much. I wouldn’t wish this pain on anyone. I just… _hurt_. Constantly. Being touched, being talked to, being needed…it all hurt, somehow. It drained me. Having a baby is supposed to be wonderful, but after we brought Henry home, all I could do was cry. The reality was so far off from what I dreamed our life would be like as a family of four. And, Mark, I _knew_ what was wrong with me. I knew exactly what was wrong, but even once I realized I couldn’t fight my way out of this, I kept hoping that what was wrong would go away…as if depression and anxiety are things you can actually wish your way out of.” Addison inhales slowly. “I felt worthless for feeling the way I did though. I had so much to live for, but I just couldn’t do the living part…I could barely motivate myself to get out of bed or take care of Henry or spend time with you and Kate. I hung in there with Kate for a few weeks until I snapped, but I wasn’t fully present with her when we were together. It wasn’t what it should have been. And I wasn’t…I _know_ how I was with you. The things I said. How I acted. I – I didn’t mean to shut you out, Mark. I’m incredibly sorry for that. Please forgive me.”  
  
“Don’t be sorry, Addison.” He murmurs the words into the smooth slope of her neck.   
  
“No. You have to let me apologize to you,” she pleads. “I withdrew from you emotionally and physically and I just…I was _awful_ to you. You didn’t do anything to deserve to be treated like that. It wasn’t okay, Mark. That’s not who I’m supposed to be or how I’m supposed to act and it’s for damn sure not who we are as a couple. Please let me tell you how sorry I am.”  
  
Mark shakes his head. “There’s nothing to forgive you for. I just want you to keep trying to get better.”  
  
“I’ll keep trying,” she says. “Today I’m feeling a little better and today is the first day where I’ve felt like…maybe I am actually _getting_ better. And I feel like I can get all the way better. I know there’s still a long road ahead and it won’t be easy, but that drowning metaphor we’re both stuck on…you’re helping me. And the medication is, too. It hasn’t fixed everything, but it’s like a floatie. You’re a floatie on one arm, and the medication is one on the other arm. And the floaties are keeping my head above water. Just until I’m more ready to swim on my own. But my head is above water. And it’s going to stay there.”  
  
\------  
  
They hold hands while walking back to the house. Addison pulls her beanie off her head once they get inside, tossing it onto the nearby couch. And then she leans in for another hug.  
  
“You hungry at all?” He asks, nuzzling her temple with his nose. It’s almost noon. And Mark didn’t think to ask her if she ate anything this morning.  
  
She smiles, teeth accidentally tickling his collarbone. _Kind of_. But food is not what she wants most right now.  
  
“Not right now. I want…I just want…” she begins, momentarily distracted by the comfort of Mark’s hands, one warm and soothing as he rubs her back, the other just resting at the base of her spine. Hands that have loved her and helped her navigate all this. “I want you.”  
  
“Yeah?” Mark asks softly. He pulls back, searching her eyes. She nods, emboldened.  
  
“Yeah,” Addison confirms. She touches her lips to his, briefly. “Take me upstairs and make love to me.”  
  
They lose layers of clothing on the way up the stairs, pausing every other step to trade slow, lusty kisses. Addison groans against his mouth, able to feel his desire for her against her thigh when he presses her into the wall. Mark lifts his arms when she tugs at his shirt to take it off; it tumbles down two steps below them.   
  
Taking everything off bit by bit makes Mark think that they’re not just shedding clothes, but something deeper, something meaningful, something _more_. Shedding the pain. The doubts. The _before_ version of themselves, because you cannot go through something as monumental as this as a couple and remain the same people on the other side of it. But in their case, it has only strengthened their commitment to one another.  
  
They get into bed once everything previously covering them is scattered on the stairs and floor. Mark is quickly on top of Addison, covering her, kissing his way down her breasts and stomach, wanting nothing more than to settle between her legs and fill her with his tongue and fingers. He grows harder just at the thought. Really though, it has been a hell of a few weeks for her and she deserves to receive as much pleasure as she can possibly take. But Addison rests a hand on his shoulder and shakes her head when he is somewhere near her navel.  
  
“Later. Plenty of time for that,” she whispers when Mark looks up at her. “Please.” She squirms, a touch impatient, and also more than ready without experiencing one of his favorite activities (and hers, as a result) first. “I just want you right now.”  
  
It is slower and more tender than what sex for them normally is like. There is a healing, intimate rhythm to the way he moves above her, and the way her hips arch up to meet his. But it still feels like they are setting each other on fire. They keep their eyes open, breathing heavily over each other’s lips when Addison starts to tighten around him. Her eyes flutter closed, and the air fills with her soft moans and pants. Mark guides her to an earth-shattering release, and follows seconds later, whispering her name against her sweat-shined skin, kissing her eyelids as their bodies begin to relax against one another.  
  
He rolls them over, soothing a hand over her trembling thighs, pushing back a damp tendril of hair sticking to her cheek.   
  
“I might actually want to eat something now,” she says, still a little breathless.   
  
“Same.”  
  
“I think we might…” she presses a quick kiss to his lips. “Be thinking about eating different things.” She raises an eyebrow.   
  
Mark smirks, understanding her meaning. “Possibly. I’m okay with _food_ -food first though.”  
  
“Food-food,” Addison says in agreement. She feels relaxed and satisfied all over. Warm. And happy. It’s not the kind of happiness Addison was used to feeling before life flung a series of curveballs at her, but it is definitely something of note. She feels it. She stretches forward to kiss Mark once more. “Then back to bed-bed.”  
  
\------


	52. You Spoke Like Broken Thunder

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Smut. Mostly smut.

**Chapter 52. You Spoke Like Broken Thunder**  
  
People plan and God laughs. Addison and Mark plan and their sex organs have other ideas. Food, then back to bed. That had been the original plan, at least. _Food-food. Bed-bed._ But they were cuddling close and touching and then suddenly Addison was urging him to pleasure her with his mouth as much as he wanted to. Food-food has consequently not happened (neither minds).   
  
Addison props up on both elbows. “What are you…?” Mark is lingering near her hips, not quite at the destination she wants him to arrive at. _Close_ , but not quite. She watches his lips move slowly, trailing across her healed incision.   
  
“Nothing. Still heading south…I’m just…your scar.” He lifts his head, expression stunningly serious. “It’s beautiful. _You’re_ beautiful.”  
  
“Oh.” Until recently, Addison hated the scar. Resented it. Not as much anymore though. The pale pink, five-inch line stretching across her skin is a reminder of what she has gone through. Of what she has survived.   
  
Mark’s eyes widen when a tear Addison wasn’t expecting slips down her cheek. “Shit. Addie…should I come back up? I didn’t mean to -”  
  
“No. South.” Addison sways her hips against the mattress and gives him a smile so he knows she’s okay. “South is good. I’m good.” She sighs when he moves down further and his tongue grazes over her. “ _Oh_ …”  
  
And soon, she is feeling far, far better than just good.  
  
Their first time being intimate in such a long time felt _incredible_ , but while basking in the afterglow, and before Addison was writhing all over Mark’s face a mere ten minutes ago, she could definitely feel some discomfort along her incision from the pressure of Mark being on top of her. She assured him it was fine, that they would just need to mix it up a bit…and obviously there are no objections to moving on to a variety of other positions in their sexual repertoire. Such as right now, when he leans back on his heels, and she straddles his thighs and sinks down on him.  
  
Addison’s hands shift down from cradling Mark’s face and burying her fingers in the thick ends of the ashy-colored hair to rest on his shoulders, giving her the opportunity to grind against him more forcefully. She can feel warmth spreading through her, the enjoyable coil of tension in the pit of her stomach when she arches her back, suspended in the moment while Mark rolls a nipple between his finger and his tongue alternates between licking and sucking on the other.  
  
“What?” Mark asks when he pulls her closer and sees her staring, lips rounded as if to tell him something.  
  
“I just love you. And…” she gasps softly when one of Mark’s hands slides between their bodies to rest a knuckle against her flesh. She can feel herself starting to clench around him. “ _You_. Mmm. I’m thinking about you.”  
  
Mark breaks up the frenzied kisses and lip sucking they’ve been engaging in so that he can hear the noises coming from Addison when her muscles contract. The moans and gasps shift into a scream as she shudders dramatically where their bodies are joined. She collapses into his chest, but for his sake, she tries to keep moving her hips in small circles, and Mark’s reaction, a lengthy, breathless groan and some repetition of her name, is still significant, but nothing quite like _that_.  
  
“You okay? And…alive?” Mark rests his hands on her hips and occasionally strokes her thighs while they both work to breathe properly again. She responds with a _yes_ and a throaty, exhausted giggle. “You’re not gonna be able to do that when we get back home, you know.” He says in reference to her scream, and predictably, for just a moment Addison buries her face into his neck to hide a blush.  
  
“Better enjoy it while I can then. As _much_ as I can. But maybe first…maybe this time we actually…” she grins.   
  
Mark is in complete agreement and finishes the thought. “Food-food for real this time. Then back to bed-bed.”  
  
“Good,” Addison says. “I need to eat something before I pass out.”  
  
“To be fair…I’m pretty sure you almost passed out just now when you came, too.”  
  
“Shut up.”  
  
\------  
  
Not bed-bed this time. Shower-shower. After the quickest lunch they have ever eaten.   
  
“Christ.” Addison laughs when they stumble into the bathroom and she sees her reflection in the mirror.  
  
Mark smirks, working his way out of his shirt and boxers. “You look amazing, but that _is_ some pretty insane sex hair.”  
  
“It is.” Addison gives her disheveled hair a light pump with the heel of her hand. But that isn’t what triggered the laugh. It’s the flecks of mascara smudged under her lower lashes. In a way that delights her. In a way that makes her hold a hand to her stomach and laugh. She realizes her reflection looks _happy_. “The raccoon eyes are pretty insane, too. You go ahead and get in the shower. I’m just going to…” she reaches for a wipe, still smiling. She had rolled her eyes when Savvy tucked a few cosmetic products into her suitcase while helping her pack for Cape Cod. But Addison wore mascara today, felt a pull to do so. “Going to make myself look less like a raccoon first.”   
  
And then she steps into the shower, bare-faced (bare everywhere, technically), feeling vulnerable again. “I’m thinking about something,” she says to her husband, whose eyes are on her breasts and stomach when she joins him under the water.   
  
“You’re not just thinking about _me_ right now?” Mark rubs her forearm. “Hey…” he says, pulling her away from the stream of warm water to hear her better. Addison was giddy and beaming thirty seconds ago. Now she just looks anxious, a perfect reminder that brains are tricky and healing is a process, one with disruptive peaks and valleys. “Tell me what you’re thinking about.”  
  
Addison nibbles on her lower lip first. “I know this isn’t something I need to worry about _right now_ , but I’m wondering what it will be like for Henry when he’s older, when one day he asks enough questions that will lead to me having to tell him about how depressed I was after he was born,” she tells Mark. “I’ve been so concerned about Kate’s feelings because she’s older, because she’s experienced this in a way Henry can’t. But I’m thinking about Henry now. And I’m worried about…about how much this will potentially crush his heart, that the mother he had as a newborn is nothing like the mother Kate got to have. And I know he won’t remember this time, but I just…I don’t want his feelings to be hurt. I don’t want him to think he wasn’t _enough_ for me. Like, what if he looks at pictures of the two of us from this time period and wonders why there’s no light in his mother’s eyes when she’s holding him?”  
  
Mark pulls her close to him, wrapping his arms around her. “You – and me, because we’re in this together – we’re going to tell him that he was loved from the moment you knew you were pregnant with him, and there wasn’t a single second that you didn’t love him, that you didn’t care about his well-being.” He touches his lips to Addison’s damp hairline, feels her tiny trembles of emotion against him. “But you were also very, very sick and needed to take care of yourself before you could take care of him. When you weren’t being treated for it, the depression was swallowing you whole, Addison. And I don’t know if this is ass-backwards logic, but to me, it’s like you got sick after you gave _birth_ , not after you gave birth to _Henry_. I don’t know if that makes any sense, but…there’s a difference, at least to me. The mother you were to Kate – Henry is going to get to experience that connection with you, too. And I’m sure he’ll have questions and it won’t be one of those one-and-done conversations, but I think he’ll understand this wasn’t his fault or your fault – it’s just something that happened. No one caused it. We’ll make sure Henry gets it, Addie. I know he will though. He has grace.”   
  
She sniffles into his collarbone. “He…has grace?”  
  
“Yeah. Before we left for the hospital the day he was born,” Mark explains. “You were telling me about a song or a poem that has a saying for each child depending on what day of the week they’re born. Tuesday was ‘full of grace,’ right? If Henry has questions about what you went through one day, I’m sure he’ll understand once we talk to him about it.”  
  
Addison smiles gratefully. She can feel the anxiety jabbing in her stomach start to lessen for now. “Thank you. I…I really needed to hear that.”  
  
“Good.”  
  
“And I…I’d still really like to do some dirty things with you in here, you know. I’m sure you’re super turned on by me after all that.”   
  
Mark laughs softly. “Give me a minute and I’ll get there. I’m definitely not done with you yet.”  
  
“Good. Me neither. And I’m definitely…actively…thinking about you right…now.” She clasps her hands behind his neck. “Just you. You’re all I’m thinking about.”  
  
Mark grins and shifts them around so her back slips against the cool tiles and she is wedged between him and the wall. They trade long, deep kisses and run their hands over one another. Addison closes her eyes and moans softly when he starts to suck on her neck and negotiates two fingers inside her.   
  
When Mark’s fingers slide out of her unexpectedly though and both his hands come up to hold her breasts in his palms, Addison blinks up at him, eyelashes coated with water. She’s about to speak or about to try to guide one set of fingers back down, but Mark beats her in both words and actions, pressing her more firmly to the wall and pressing himself against her thigh. His stubble tickles her cheek as he leans towards her ear.   
  
“I’m thinking about you, too. I’m so fucking hard for you,” he murmurs, edging his tongue along the fold of her ear. It makes her knees buckle. Addison _enjoys_ him like this. Comments of a similar nature when they’re not having or about to have sex always vaguely embarrass her WASP-ish sensibilities or make her roll her eyes, but when things are heating up between them or they’re actually in the throes, it turns her on, or _more_ on.   
  
Addison wants to say something sassy-sultry back to him about what she’s feeling for _him_ and _where_ exactly she is feeling it, but instead she just inhales sharply when she finds herself being slid up the wall and then completely, utterly filled by Mark.   
  
\------  
  
They have decided that the word repetition is absolutely the dumbest of all their ongoing inside jokes, but that doesn’t stop them from saying _sleep-sleep_ on Friday night. It’s an early night for them, essentially crawling into bed right after FaceTiming with Kate to say goodnight to her.   
  
Addison wakes first on Saturday. Long before the alarm clock. They set it, finally, deciding they want to try to leave by eight so they can be home around lunchtime. She studies her husband while he continues to snooze next to her. It was perhaps too subtle for her to notice before, but in the pinpricks of morning light slipping through the blinds, she can just make out gray shadows under Mark’s eyes. He has shut her down each time she has tried to apologize. Addison thinks there was a night where she told him she was sorry this was hard for him too, but it is difficult to remember. Not all the details and memories associated with keeping her head above water are perfectly clear.  
  
Mark stretches, leisurely waking up. She smiles when his eyes connect with hers. Pale blue. _Ice_ blue, maybe, but Addison told him once when she was a few glasses of wine deep that his eyes make her think of spring. Mark told her– zero glasses of wine, just sappy and sentimental – that hers make him think of winter.   
  
“Hi,” he says. “That looks…like a worried smile. You okay, honey?” He knows Addison is a bit nervous about going home. About bonding with Henry. About the forgiveness of her daughter. About adjusting to being a present mother.   
  
Addison nods in response. “Yes. That’s actually what I want to ask _you_ though, Mark. I know you don’t want an apology, but I haven’t really checked in with you lately. This has been a lot on you. You’ve been doing so much to help keep me afloat, and to take care of the kids and comfort them. If I can’t make you accept an apology from me, then I’d at least like to know how you’re doing. How you’re feeling. What this has all been like for you. Can you…can you talk to me about that?”  
  
“I…” Mark hesitates, surprised at how quickly a breath gets trapped in his throat. “Um. I…I just…”  
  
She rubs his shoulder. “Take your time.”  
  
“I…I thought that maybe…” Mark tries again, shaking his head when his eyes prickle with tears. The weight of his reaction floors him. _Her too, probably_. Mark inhales shakily. And then tears fall. A slow, somber collapse that he has managed to shelve for so many weeks. “I just…I thought…”  
  
“Oh, Mark…” Addison whispers, feeling her stomach cramp up in response to his visible hurt. “Wait. Don’t.” She frames his face between her hands when he tries to angle himself away, dampened cheeks tinting red with embarrassment. “Please don’t pull away. It’s all right. This doesn’t make you any less of a man. Just talk to me when you’re ready. I’m here for you.”  
  
“Addison.” His voice is hoarse.   
  
She just keeps holding his face though, words exceedingly kind when she repeats herself. “Take your time.”  
  
Mark pulls in a long, shaky breath. “I was…I was so worried about you. And at first you wouldn’t talk about it. You looked at me and it was like you didn’t see me anymore…like you didn’t _want_ to see me. It’s not your _fault_ you were feeling that way so I don’t want to hear the s-word, but just. And…and then…and then you told you hated me – and I knew, logically I knew it was no different than the time Kate said she hated us because we wouldn’t stop at a stupid toy store we passed, that it’s just words in the heat of the moment – but there was this other, like, minute-long sliver, where I thought maybe…even beyond the depression, I thought maybe you didn’t want to be with me anymore. The sliver went away though, and I know – I know you shutting me out had nothing to do with what you felt for me. It was the depression, not you. Mostly…mostly though I’ve just been so worried about you and I’ve been scared I haven’t been doing enough…that there’s better things I could say or do to support you.”  
  
Addison leans forward, erasing the space between them to kiss his forehead. “First: you’ve been nothing short of _phenomenal_ , Mark. I can’t name one thing you haven’t said or done to support me and help me navigate this hailstorm of depression and anxiety. Second: I love you so, so much, and this is exactly why I want to be able to tell you how sorry I am.”  
  
“I just want you to keep getting better.” Mark shakes his head. “That’s all I want.”  
  
“And I will,” Addison answers. She thinks she will give some more thought to what else she wants to say to him though. She’s bright. Surely she can figure out an apology loophole. In the meantime, she gently kisses the drying tears on his cheeks, each drop of fluid tasting like regret for his anguish. “Would you like a Zoloft? Sorry…that was a bad joke.”  
  
Mark smiles, manages a croaky laugh. “I _love_ bad jokes. I’m okay.”  
  
“Your okay- _ish_ ,” she corrects. “You definitely needed to get that out of your system though. Don’t be embarrassed, Mark. Come on, how many times have I cried in front of you?”  
  
“A…a lot?” And then he realizes she probably meant it rhetorically.   
  
Addison takes it in stride though. “I also would have accepted ‘the limit does not exist’ as an answer. Mark, is there anything else you want to share? Or tell me?”  
  
“No, it’s…” he sighs, feeling his throat start to relax. “It’s okay. That’s it.”  
  
“Well, if at any point you change your mind, please tell me. We’re in this non-drowning, floatie Vermont thing together, okay?” She rubs her nose against his. “What if you go back to sleep for a bit? Or as long as you want, actually. I think you need this.”  
  
“But don’t you want to get back?” Mark asks. It’s getting closer to their agreed-upon departure time. They even packed as much as they could last night so they wouldn’t have to waste much time this morning.  
  
“Yes. I really, really do,” Addison says. “But I also want my husband to rest. You’ve taken such great care of me…but at the expense of taking care of yourself. We could plan to leave in the afternoon. Kate knows we’re coming back today, but we only told the adults what time we were thinking, not her. Maybe you can text the group and let them know we’re thinking we’ll be back in the early evening, but we’ll have a better sense of whether it’s six or seven or whatever in a few more hours? I’m sure they won’t mind. Or I can send the text from your phone.” She gives him a shrug. “Mine is…I need to charge mine. I’ll do that while you sleep.”  
  
He bobbles his head in a nod, and Addison makes a show of fluffing his pillow while Mark fires off a text. He sets his phone back on the nightstand after a no-nonsense thumbs-up emoji from Savvy comes through. He nods again when Addison asks if his phone on silent.  
  
“Addison,” Mark says quietly when he scoots back under the blanket, resting on his back. “I’d rather just hold you.” Her hand is already dipping around his waist, fingers wedged between his skin and the sheets, trying to coax him over so she can rub his back.   
  
“Okay,” she murmurs, laying her head on his chest. His arms loop over her, hugging her close, and she closes a hand around one of his shoulders, holding him right back. “Close your eyes now, Mark. Sleep.”  
  
\------  
  
“Crap.” Addison grimaces in regret when what she thinks are quiet movements are apparently loud enough to make Mark stir. “Sorry,” she says as he blinks up at her, attempting to orient himself. “I borrowed your charger and was bringing it back to plug your phone in. You slept for like four hours. But if you -”  
  
Mark shakes his head. “It’s okay. I got enough sleep. I can get up. Oh. Unless…” he smiles when Addison gets in on the other side of the bed and shoots him a predatory look he has gotten all too used to seeing since yesterday afternoon. “Unless we’re…going to be staying in bed for a bit longer?”  
  
“Yes, but.” She cups his elbow when he rolls onto his side to face her. “Can you…can you just listen for a bit while I talk to you?”  
  
“Yeah, of course.”  
  
“Okay. So, the thing is…” Addison chains her fingers through his. “These have been the darkest, most terrifying weeks of my life. And you never…you never once gave up on me. On us. You’ve taken care of me. You’ve assured me over and over again that what happened isn’t my fault. You’ve held me every time I cried. You’ve done anything and everything to support me. And while I can’t apologize for having Postpartum depression, that didn’t give me the right to shut you out or treat you the way I did. If you don’t want me to say sorry for that, then please just know that I’m sorry for how difficult and hurtful this has been for you, and for any insecurities or doubts this brought up. It’s you though, for me. It’s you today. And it’s you tomorrow. You…you wrote that once. And I’m telling you it now. While Savvy was packing my things for me before we left, she was teasing me, trying to get me to smile – she asked if she was going to find a love letter in Henry’s diaper bag.” She pauses to make sure he is remembering.  
  
“After our wedding…” Mark grins in understanding. “You put the love letter I wrote you in Kate’s diaper bag for safekeeping. And then Kate stayed the night with Savvy and Weiss. Savvy didn’t _actually_ find the note, at least; we just told her about it later.”  
  
“Right. And I assured her in this instance that that specific note was in the wooden box you got me for our last anniversary. Then she went into the box, pulled it out, and told me to read it again before we left. So I did. And now I’m telling you: it’s you today, it’s you tomorrow. And I’ll love you forever. And…” Addison smiles shyly, unfolds their hands so she can touch his cheek. “So…yeah. That’s it. That’s my big finish.”  
  
“Thank you, Red.” Mark runs a hand through her hair, feeling the strands slip through his fingers. “And I…I’ll love you forever, too.”  
  
Addison grins. “You want to go one more round before we shove some leftovers down our throats and get ready to leave?” Mark barely lifts his head in a nod before she shoves at the blanket covering them until it’s bunched at the end of the bed. He laughs.   
  
“Seems like _you_ definitely do. But yes, absolutely.” Mark tugs his boxers down, kicking at them until they’re somewhere near the blanket. “The limit does not exist for how many rounds I’d like to go with you.” A breath catches in his throat when her fingertips slide over him. He kisses her, hungrily, groaning when Addison tugs at his bottom lip, but then suddenly she’s breaking away like a retreating wave and the hand that has already stroked him hard alarmingly fast has also left. But only, Mark realizes, so she can slither her way down his body. “Wait…” he murmurs, at what is arguably the dumbest time to tell her to wait, since her mouth is _right there_. But, still. He doesn’t want her to feel like she _owes_ him anything, just because it was an emotional morning for him. “Addie, you don’t have -”  
  
“Hey, Mark? Not that I want you to spend _less_ time between my legs, but I wonder if you’ve ever paused to consider…” she takes his erection in her mouth for a moment. And then her lips slide away so she can finish the thought. “Have you ever considered that maybe I _like_ reciprocating and I _want_ to suck you off?”  
  
“Fuck, Addison.”  
  
Her eyes glitter mischievously at Mark’s words, at his aroused expression upon hearing this from her. “Yeah. That part’s next,” she jokes, but also confirms. “And then…” her voice softens, feeling hopeful and more sure of herself than she has felt in a long, long time. “And then home.”  
  
Mark smiles. “And then home,” he repeats.  
  
\------


	53. Grace

**Chapter 53. Grace**  
  
“Ad?” Mark prompts. He is about to open his car door, but realizes Addison has not attempted to unbuckle her seatbelt yet. They have made it home. Dusk has settled in by the time they reach Manhattan, the stretch of sky around them suspended between light and dark. Addison stares out the front windshield, taking in the light pinks, purples, and blues hanging up above. She startles a little when Mark says her name again.   
  
“Sorry. I was just…it’s strawberry yogurt pouch sky. The pink color.” Addison says, and Mark smiles. He also would have accepted _cotton candy_. Their daughter loves to classify the colors of sunrise and sunset by foods they remind her of.  
  
“Yeah. I can see that.”  
  
“I’m not sure what she would call the blue and purple shades though…”   
  
“You ready?” Mark knows she is stalling.  
  
Addison inhales nervously. “Yes. And…and also no.”   
  
“It’s going to be okay. Tell me the plan again, Red. Then we’ll go in.”  
  
“Okay.” Addison sets her phone back in her handbag first. In a way, it felt like she was rejoining the world when she turned the device back on and charged it. Since Mark was driving, she handled the correspondence with Savvy and Derek to finalize their return plans, with input from Mark along the drive. The nerves amped up a notch for her somewhere in Washington Heights. “We get home a little after six – which is accurate. We did that. We bring our luggage inside, but deal with it later. Derek just confirmed Henry is asleep, and he usually naps until seven-thirty, so we’ll get some time with just Kate first. And I texted Derek when we reached Columbus to let him know we were close. Kate is over at Sav and Weiss’s right now, but I texted Savvy and she knows we just got here, so she is going to bring Kate over. Derek and Meredith will ride back with Sav so no one in our house is stuck sleeping on the couch tonight. We’re going to order pizza for dinner. And then when Henry wakes up, you’ll go get him, and then once he’s settled down, I’ll come sit with you. And…and I’ll hold him.”  
  
“Great. But you missed one thing.” Addison looks over sharply at this accusation. She _doesn’t_ miss. “What kind of pizza?” Mark clarifies with a teasing smile. She softens, and undoes her seatbelt. She is ready now.  
  
“Cheese, because we’re boring like that, but that…I didn’t _really_ miss anything.”  
  
“No. You never do.”  
  
\------  
  
Mark and Addison sidestep Derek and Meredith’s suitcases when they slip through the front door, watching as their friends hop up from the couch to greet them.  
  
“Welcome back,” Derek says, the first thing of significance beyond the round of _hellos_ and quick hugs they have exchanged. “How…how are you, Addie?”  
  
“Good,” Addison confirms with a smile that reaches her eyes. “Better – not _all_ better, but definitely better than I’ve been. And I’m…I'm ready to be home. Thank you for being here for Kate and Henry. And for _us_. I might…” Addison shifts her gaze over to Meredith. “I might grab a glass of water. Meredith, would you like one?” She does enough with her eyes and a head tilt for Meredith to get the hint and follow her, whether the blonde is thirsty or not.   
  
Addison waits until they are in the kitchen before speaking. “I didn’t want to ask this in front of anyone in case I’m _wrong_ , but…are you pregnant?”  
  
“Oh. You’re not wrong,” Meredith smiles shyly. “Yes, I’m pregnant. Seven weeks. I’m due in late October. You can…you can tell?”  
  
“Not in a _you’re showing_ way, because you’re absolutely not, but when you guys got here last Saturday, I could just tell. It wasn’t anything specific. Call it OB/GYN Intuition and Mother’s Intuition, I guess. I hope…Meredith, I hope you seeing me in this state hasn’t been…too difficult or upsetting. I promise that the odds of -”  
  
“I’m okay,” Meredith says quickly. “I know. I know the likelihood is low and everything. But I’ve also always kind of _expected_ to get PPD, so if I don’t end up having it, it’ll be…a nice surprise.” She winces upon saying this aloud. “Sorry, I know that’s a horrible outlook. It’s just -”  
  
“The sometimes dark and twisty thing.” Addison kind of understands this.  
  
Meredith nods sheepishly. “Yeah.”  
  
“Well, I’m sure you’ll have a perfectly healthy delivery and everything after will be fine aside from the guaranteed sleep deprivation, but if you need any support, or anything at all – I mean, I know you have people, but -”  
  
“You and Mark are our people too,” Meredith says, which makes Addison smile.  
  
“And look, I know we already talked about it, but you guys are more than welcome to stay the night. Not that Savvy and Weiss are far away, but I would still hate for you to have to cart your stuff over there. We really need more comfortable furniture and to make the guest room an actual guest room, but the couches aren’t too bad, and I’m sure we also have sleeping bags somewhere.”  
  
“Derek says there’s no way that a Montgomery or Sloan owns a sleeping bag.”  
  
“And Mark just confirmed that’s true,” Derek says as he and Mark come into the kitchen. “Kate’s butterfly sleeping bag doesn’t count. Even the perfect twelve-year-old couldn’t fit in it.” He directs a smirk at Addison at this remark. “Really though, we’re fine with going back to Sav and Weiss’s. And we’re not leaving until tomorrow night, so we’ll be able to see you tomorrow and say goodbye to the kids.”  
  
“That would be good,” Addison replies. “I…well, we both – we can’t thank you enough for coming. I know it was short notice, too.”  
  
“You guys are family. In an odd way, but family all the same. We wanted to be here. Besides…” Derek nudges Meredith’s shoulder. “This was a good trial run for us. I told Mark while we were in the other room, and…” he raises an eyebrow at Addison and laughs softly. “I’m assuming your sudden need for a glass of water – not that you even bothered to get one out for appearances’ sake – was to ask Meredith in private, right?”  
  
“That’s correct,” Addison says while Mark tells Meredith congratulations.   
  
“I’m glad you got plenty of practice,” Mark adds. “But it sounds like you need to work on your magnetic tile building skills. You seriously couldn’t make a decent robot, man?”  
  
Derek laughs, but has a competitive edge to his tone when he speaks. “Kate told you?”  
  
Addison confirms this with a nod. “Yeah. We talked about it for a while, actually. Mark…” she catches his movement out of the corner of her eye, but can just sense it more than anything else. “Don’t you dare go get the Magna-Tiles. Kate will be home any minute. Save the robot building competition for another day.”  
  
“Tomorrow?” Mark smirks.  
  
Derek narrows his eyes. “You’re on.”  
  
\------  
  
Addison hears a light, courtesy knock and the squeak of the front door being thrust open. She feels her chest tighten in anticipation as she reaches the divide between the kitchen and living room in time to see Savvy in the entranceway, with Kate a half step behind her.  
  
“Hi,” Addison says, much too softly for her words to travel across the room. It only takes a moment for Kate’s light blue eyes to settle on her mother though. Addison watches her daughter’s lips press together in preparation. _M sound. M for Mommy_ , she knows. Kate cannot quite push the word out though. Addison knows her daughter was prepared for her and Mark to be home, but that does not mean it isn’t surprising for Kate all the same.   
  
Addison sinks down, knees scraping against the carpet as she kneels. She holds her arms out for her daughter. “Hi, Kate.” This time, it is loud enough.  
  
“Oh,” Kate says, sucking in a sharp, tiny breath, just like Addison sometimes does when the emotions arrive a little faster than the words. And then Kate runs across the room, all filly legs and sharp elbows and play-mussed hair as she flings her arms around her mother, words lilting and beautiful against Addison’s throat when she finds her voice. “Mommy. Mommy. _Mommy_.”  
  
“Hi, sweet girl. I missed you so much. Oh, Kate…” Addison’s eyes were already filled with moisture upon seeing her daughter, and Kate running into her arms led to tears seesawing on the curves of her eyelids. And now tears drop hot and fast for Addison when she hears her daughter sniffle and start to hiccup. “It’s okay, baby. Don’t cry. Everything is okay.”  
  
“But Mommy,” Kate leans back a little, but her arms are still wrapped tightly behind Addison’s neck, fingers a steeple, unwilling to let go. “You are crying too.”  
  
“You’re right.” Addison adjusts herself to sit cross-legged, and helps Kate get situated in her lap, sideways so that she doesn’t have to relinquish the hold she has on her mother. Addison can hear muffled footsteps pass by, and she also catches a quick glimpse of darkening sky when Savvy opens the front door again to exit, but no one wants to disturb Addison and Kate, and Addison doesn’t offer any parting words either. She can text her friends later. “But these are happy tears. These are happy tears for _you_ , because I missed you so much.”  
  
Kate smiles, lower lip still quivering. “I missed you too. Because we are real.”  
  
It takes Addison a moment. And then she knows. _The Velveteen Rabbit_. Not one of Kate’s favorites (or Addison’s) because it’s just such a bummer of a read, but the little girl knows it well. Real is when you are loved forever. Real means that things hurt sometimes. Real means there can be beautiful things – including forgiveness and recovery – once the hardships have passed.  
  
“Yes. We are real.”  
  
\------  
  
“Hey.” Mark ruffles Kate’s hair. He has hung back for a bit, wanting Addison to have this time to reconnect with Kate. They have relocated from the floor to the couch, but Kate is still curled up in Addison’s lap. They are so wrapped up in one another that their strands of hair are mingling together and Mark can barely tell whose is whose anymore. It’s one of the most beautiful things he’s ever seen though. “You’re gonna say hi to me and give me a hug at some point, right?” He sits down next to them and gives Kate a playful smile. She giggles back and momentarily peels her arms off Addison to reach out to give him a hug.  
  
Kate sounds so happy when she speaks. “Hi, Daddy.”   
  
“Hi, buddy.” Mark holds her tight for a few seconds, and then lets go. Kate scoots back into her mother’s lap. “Pizza should be here in like fifteen minutes. I’m going to go set the table while you and Mommy hang out some more.”  
  
“Cheese?”  
  
Mark grins as he heads back into the kitchen. “Of course,” he calls out over a shoulder.  
  
Kate snuggles beneath Addison’s chin. At least once a minute her tiny hand closes around Addison’s wrist, as though testing her solidness, her realness, the weight of her commitment. “I’m not going anywhere, my love.” Addison brushes her lips to Kate’s forehead. “Daddy and I are home now.”  
  
“I know. I just missed you.”  
  
Addison doesn’t know if Kate has ability to put it into words, because she is still so, so young and feelings are complex. But Addison knows that her daughter means she has missed her far beyond when they actually left for Cape Cod a week ago. It has been a while since Addison has been the mother that Kate, and Henry, deserve.  
  
“I missed you, too. Kate, I’m sorry about the night I yelled at you and said I couldn’t read with you. That was really mean and I know it hurt your feelings. You didn’t -”  
  
“Were you sad because of me?” Kate interrupts. She knows the answer. Mostly. Daddy has told her. And Aunt Savvy. And Meredith. And Derek. But she needs to hear it from Mommy too, just to be sure. Kate needs to know that Mommy was sad (which made her be mean) because she was _sick_ , not because of anything Kate said or did. “Do you not want to read books anymore?”  
  
“I want to read books with you, Kate. I want to read every book in the entire _world_ with you,” she answers. “That night was just…you didn’t do anything wrong. I wasn’t feeling well and I was sad so it got very loud inside my head, like a thunderstorm, and I just started yelling. None of this is your fault though and I am never, ever sad because of you. Or because of Henry. I love you both. I was just sick, and for mommies who get sick after having babies, that means feeling sad. But now I’m taking medicine to help me feel better.”  
  
“Are you still sad?”  
  
 _Yes,_ Addison thinks. _Not all the time, but a lot of the time._ She takes a deep breath, wanting to answer honestly, but safely. She owes her daughter the truth, but also owes it to Kate not to alarm her, either.  
  
“I am _almost_ all better,” she says carefully. “It’s like having a cold. You take medicine and eventually get to a day where you’re still a _little_ sick, but not as sick as you were at the start of the cold. You’re just going to keep getting better, not worse. Does that make sense?”  
  
Kate nods. “Yeah. Like…like a stuffy nose. When you’re getting better the boogers move from one side of your nose to the other when you’re lying on your side, and when it’s happening you feel better because you can breathe good in your nose. You get to breathe again.”  
  
“Yes.” Addison smiles. It’s far from a mature example, but it completely makes sense and her daughter’s brain never ceases to amaze her. “That is exactly what I mean. I’m going to keep getting better – I promise. I love you, Kate.”  
  
“I love you too, Mommy.”  
  
\------  
  
They end up eating dinner in the living room, with the pizza box, plates with dripping slices, and an alarming number of napkins fanned out over the coffee table. They have light-colored carpet in this room, so they _never_ do this for fear of spills, but Mark gets the sense that Kate really, really wants to be as close to Addison as she can be, so the floor is their best bet for now.  
  
Henry’s rasping cries pipe through the monitor when they are just about done eating. Addison shoots Mark a panicked glance. Kate is still in her lap. _I can’t take care of two at once_ , she thinks. _How does_ any _parent even manage more than one? And I can’t leave her when she’s clinging to me like this._  
  
Mark understands. “Plans can be modified,” he says gently to Addison. “We can do the next one together if you want?” Henry is awake in shorter spurts in the evening anyway, so Addison isn’t missing too much with this particular wake-up. And Kate will be asleep by the time Henry wakes up next. “He’ll be up again around nine-thirty or ten.”   
  
Addison nods gratefully. _Yes. Because plans can be modified._ She looks down at her daughter when Mark heads upstairs to get Henry.  
  
“I’m so happy we’re getting time to snuggle and that you’re in my lap, but you know you’re going to have to let go at some point, right? I’m not a kangaroo,” she says it with a grin and a soft enough voice so Kate knows she is not upset. Addison brushes her nose against Kate’s. “I can’t carry you around like a baby in my pocket.”  
  
“Baby kangaroos are called joeys. They are not called babies. And I’ll let go later, Mommy. Just not _yet_.”  
  
Addison smiles. “Just not yet.”   
  
\------  
  
They are a bit farther apart in bed tonight due to the five year-old currently asleep next to Addison. _Just for tonight_ , Addison told Kate when she asked if she could sleep in their bed. _Henry is going to wake up at least twice while you’re asleep, which might wake you. And you need your beauty and smart rest_.  
  
Mark keeps his voice low, not wanting to wake Kate, or Henry, who is in the bassinet on his other side. “I know you think she’s a total Daddy’s Girl -”  
  
“She _is_ ,” Addison interrupts. “But you know she gets like this with me if we do an overnight or weekend away…and this was a long time to be apart. And, you know. Everything else that was unprecedented about this situation. Don’t worry. You’ll have your little buddy back soon.”  
  
“I know. I don’t mind. It’s just really…really nice to see you two together again.”  
  
Addison sinks her teeth into her lower lip. “I hope I haven’t…I think maybe I traumatized her. She’s barely let me out of her sight. And…” she trails off when she can hear Henry starting to fuss, slowly waking up and attempting to break free of his swaddle. Addison thinks back to their plan. Mark will handle the basic needs for the night, and she will hold their son once he is happy and settled (the easier part, she knows).  
  
“We’re gonna talk more about the Kate thing later. I promise you though that you haven’t scarred her for life. Now…” Mark stands up and goes to get Henry. “I’m going to change Henry’s diaper and then I’ll take him downstairs. Just come whenever you feel ready, Addison. You can even just sit next to us, if you want.”  
  
Addison gives herself five minutes once she hears Mark go downstairs to get a bottle. And then she follows. She sits next to him, and shyly asks to hold her son. She feels ready. Henry releases a squawk of protest at first, not at all a fan of having his bottle popped out of his mouth, but once he is cradled in the crook of Addison’s elbow and she eases the bottle back between his parted lips, he relaxes again.   
  
“I’m sorry, Henry,” she whispers.  
  
They talked about this earlier, too. _I want to be able to tell Henry that I’m sorry_ , Addison informed Mark. _And since you love me, I know you’re going to try to stop me from saying the s-word, but I don’t want you to do that. I know Henry can’t understand yet, but it’s important to me to be able to tell him that none of this is his fault. So I need you to let me do that without protest._  
  
She swallows the lump rising in her throat. “My sweet baby boy. I’m sorry I haven’t been as involved as I should have been for your first few weeks, but I’m going to do better now. When I’m not sick, I’m a good mom. Possibly insane and a little neurotic at times, but still a good mom, and I…I just can’t wait to show you how much I want to be with you. So I need you to know that nothing about what happened to me is your fault, Henry. You’re perfect. You’re one of the three lights of my life. And I love you.”  
  
Warmth spreads through Addison’s chest as her son peeps up at her through long lashes. He is sleepy while he draws in milk, but he looks peaceful in her embrace. She leans down to kiss the spot between his barely-there brows.   
  
It really is like getting to breathe again.   
  
\------  
  
Kate’s projector nightlight she has had since infancy features stars and moons. A similar device for Henry’s room beams up ocean waves that shimmer across the ceiling. It is relaxing to look at. So much so that the following morning it takes Mark a moment when he slips into Henry’s room to focus on Addison and Henry in the rocking chair. And then when a wave undulates in a certain direction, illuminating the corner of the room, he can see the shiny lines on his wife’s cheeks that indicate tears have fallen.  
  
“Addison…”  
  
“H-happy tears,” she tells him with a weak smile, eyes briefly off her son. “But no free hands.” She looks back at Henry, snuggled in her arms and not quite asleep yet. “Can you get me a tissue?”  
  
Mark grabs a tissue from the box on Henry’s dresser and comes over to the rocking chair. “These are happy tears?” He asks quietly while dabbing at her cheeks.  
  
“Henry smiled. Mark, he _smiled_ at me. Look…” she lightly taps Henry’s nose a few times as he blinks up at her. Henry is not particularly stingy after offering up his first-ever smile a few minutes ago, so he arches his neck and gives his mother another wide smile, eyes creasing and cheek muscles curving.  
  
“Such a handsome smile. I don’t know how I got so lucky, but I promise every day from this day forward to earn the right to be your mother. Every day. I promise. I love you, Hennybug,” Addison whispers. It is possibly the one nickname her daughter hasn’t called the baby yet.   
  
_Hennybug_.  
  
It sticks. In the same way Kate grudgingly turns every diploma she is the recipient of upside down for a photo, Henry endures getting called Hennybug by his mother at least once a week. Luckily, around the time he turns seven, Addison has the good sense to only say this name in the privacy of their own home. And Henry in turn, even as a teenager, is gracious enough for the most part to not roll his eyes when he hears his mother call him such a babyish name. Secretly, he kind of likes it. It’s special in a way, because no one else calls him this. It’s like it’s only real for the two of them.  
  
\------ 


	54. Stars Around My Scars

**Chapter 54. Stars Around My Scars**  
  
“He’s seriously the happiest little guy,” Savvy says as Meredith hands a cooing Henry to her. A few hours have passed since Addison witnessed that treasured first smile from her son. The three women are now sitting in a circle, and every few minutes Henry gets shifted to the left so someone else can have a turn to hold him. Just the women though. Derek and Mark are on the other side of the living room, backs to one another, a rainbow of magnetic tiles scattered between them. Kate moseys back-and-forth between groups (Weiss and the twins are at Madison Square Garden suffering through a Knicks game), alternating between checking the progress of the robots and building a creation of her own (a dinosaur) in the circle spot that her mom, Savvy, and Meredith have left open.   
  
“You both must have been _unbearable_ as kids,” Addison comments with an eye roll once her daughter is out of earshot. She knows Meredith’s reasons for coming back to see everyone before heading to LaGuardia are honorable; Derek might have wanted to see everyone too, but he _also_ wants to beat Mark.  
  
“Mark was,” Derek mutters in response. Mark does not bother to dispute this accusation. It is very much true.   
  
“All right, Katiebee,” Mark calls out a few minutes later. “I’m done, and so is Derek.” He has assured Derek that Kate will be a fair judge. If anything, she will probably be harder on Mark. Derek and Meredith do not have toys at their house (yet); Mark technically has access to Magna-Tiles whenever he wants.  
  
“They are both good.” Kate determines after scrutinizing the robots. The head on Derek’s robot is too big for its body, and her dad’s has weird arms, but both are still good enough to get a compliment. Derek’s robot is at least better than the one he made the other day. “But…” Kate beams widely. “ _Mommy’s_ robot is the best.”  
  
Mark and Derek twist around, and Addison sweeps her palm out elegantly to show off her robot. She started building it shortly after she determined that the two men are absolute idiots, and neither robot-in-progress looked particularly promising. There is definitely no disputing Addison’s robot is the best of the three. By a landslide. It’s like the top of the class battle at med school all over again. Addison is just a bit smarter than everyone else, and fights like a girl while the rest of the men, completely oblivious, are only set upon killing each other.   
  
Derek scowls. “Addison what the…hehhh…” he draws the word out in order to catch himself. “H-e double hockey sticks.”   
  
“I already know that means the word ‘hell,’” Kate answers calmly.  
  
“Kate,” Addison says, unable to hold back a smile.  
  
Kate raises both shoulders in a defensive shrug. “Well, it _does_.”  
  
\------  
  
Addison forces herself to count to three while taking slow, measured breaths. _One_. It has been a good day. She spent time alone with Henry while Mark was downstairs, and at one point Henry started crying and she was able to comfort him without getting upset herself. _Two_. She picked Kate up after school today, which is something she hasn’t done in weeks. She played with both kids this evening. She read _Ada Twist, Scientist_ with Kate at bedtime. _Three_. There was sadness – _is_ sadness – but it felt lighter today while keeping busy with the kids.   
  
“So…I start therapy in a few days,” Addison says haltingly. Mark is busy making Kate’s lunch for tomorrow, and Henry is snuggled against her shoulder, drifting along in that fuzzy area between sleep and wakefulness. “I feel like we should talk about it,” she continues when Mark glances up. But then she shrugs the shoulder Henry isn’t resting on, unsure of where to actually begin.   
  
“You’re not embarrassed about talking to someone, are you?” Mark asks, coming over to stand next to her. “I mean, even I went to therapy for a bit, like seven or eight years ago. Everyone should go to therapy at some point.”  
  
“Didn’t your therapist tell you that you were self-destructive or something?”   
  
He chuckles. “Oh, I remember that one exactly. He said: ‘Mark, beneath that rugged and confident exterior, you’re self-destructive and self-loathing to an almost pathological degree.’ What a _line_. It’s almost poetic, actually. And for four hundred bucks an hour, the words from his mouth _should_ have sounded like they were coming from a world-renowned poet.”   
  
“Honey, you know at the time that Derek and I would have told you that about yourself for _free_ , right?”  
  
“Yes, but…” Mark nudges Addison’s shoulder as she giggles. Henry’s head lifts a little at the sound, but he ends up sighing drowsily into his mother’s neck instead, and falls asleep. “In the off chance I took the assessment seriously and actually worked on myself, things might have turned out differently in my life. In our lives.”  
  
Addison nudges him back. “Like we both wouldn’t have been self-destructive and self-loathing enough to wind up in bed together? It worked out pretty well though,” she says, and Mark grins in agreement. “But no, I’m not embarrassed. Postpartum depression and losing my dad a few months ago aside, there’s the lonely childhood, weird WASP-y things, anxiety…I probably should have been sitting in the patient chair years ago. I’m just a little nervous. But I know it’ll be fine. Should I…should I _talk_ to you about my appointments though? Like, what I talk about with the therapist? That’s what I’m trying to say, I think. Or ask, I mean.”  
  
“Look…” Mark moves in front of her. The pads of his fingers graze over one of her elbows. “I’m not expecting you to tell me everything, Addison. They’re your sessions, not mine. You _can_ tell me everything if that’s what you want, but I’m not expecting you to. We have to stay in Vermont though. Therapy isn’t a substitute for talking to me. So that’s…that’s the thing, I guess.”  
  
“I won’t shut you out,” she says quietly. “I promise. Will you come with me though? And wait in the waiting room for me?” She frowns when a funny smile crosses Mark’s face. “What?”  
  
“I know you hate when I _assume_ things, but I assumed that was the plan anyway. We’re in this together, Addison. And I already asked, and Lauren is available to watch Henry on Thursday – for as long as we need.”  
  
Addison exhales. It is the kind of release that triggers a relaxed, full-body sigh. “We’re in this together,” she repeats, hugging her son a little tighter.  
  
\------  
  
It is an odd contrast in sensations, Addison knows, but also a perfectly pleasant one as she and Mark continue to kiss the following night. Warmth and coldness. The kitchen countertop is chilly beneath her bare legs, but her exposed skin is also warm with perspiration due to the burst of pleasure Mark’s tongue drew from her mere minutes ago. Her limbs are tingling and her stomach still feels tight from the muscle-clenching she had to do to keep her voice down, but she is definitely ready to go again.   
  
_Except. Except._  
  
“I…wait…” she mumbles with some reluctance as Mark’s lips move over her neck.  
  
Mark pulls back, eyebrows raising in a question. He tugs her shirt down and settles his hands on the material covering her hips. The look on her face isn’t one of disinterest, but it’s also not as simple as an _I need more time to come back down to earth after what you just did to me_ look either. “You okay?” He asks, voice teeming with concern. Addison bites down on the inside of her lower lip. _No_ , he thinks immediately. She looks worried.   
  
It takes Addison a moment to find her voice, and when she does, it is shaky.   
  
“Sorry. My brain is being kind of loud at the moment…I know it’s not the ideal time…” her cheeks flush. She wiggles her toes a bit, legs dangling off the edge. “And you’re…” she makes a vague gesture with her hand to indicate Mark’s obvious arousal straining under his boxer briefs. “I mean. Sorry. I know I’m the one who _started_ this, and I swear my mind wasn’t going a million miles a minute while you were -”  
  
“Hey,” he interrupts, keeping one hand on her hip, and moving the other up to rub her shoulder. Yes, she did start it. Not that he wasn’t a willing, happy participant from the beginning, of course. A few minutes ago he was kneeling on the kitchen floor, one of her legs placed over his shoulder while her hands grasped desperately at the edge of the counter to stay upright (he is pretty impressed she managed to, actually). And now she’s seconds away from tears. “Stop. It’s okay. Don’t be sorry, Red. But tell me what your brain is being loud about.”  
  
“I was thinking…when should I go back to work? And when should you go back to work?”  
  
“When you feel ready,” Mark says. “For both. And you’ll know when that is. Don’t attach a timeline to it. There’s no rush for either of us, so don’t set a date in your head. You’ll know when you’re ready. And you’ll talk about it in therapy, too. But I’m not going anywhere until you tell me to. Okay?”  
  
“Okay. That was…I guess that’s kind of it.” She presses her lips together. “I know it sounds like a stupid thing to worry about, to get worked up about, especially right _now_ when I’m on the counter with my legs spread, but -”  
  
“It doesn’t sound stupid.” He frames a hand around her cheekbone, her skin beneath his palm still heated with embarrassment. Addison manages a small nod, and then scoots closer to the edge.   
  
“I just need a hug for a minute,” she murmurs, resting her forehead on Mark’s chest. She closes her eyes, appreciating the comfort of his arms surrounding her, and his quietness. Logically, she knows she shouldn’t apologize or feel bad. She can’t help the way she feels, and she can’t help _when_ she feels the way she feels. It’s still frustrating though.   
  
“Okay,” she inhales slowly. “I’m okay. We can resume what we were doing. My brain is being quiet again. For now, at least.”  
  
“You sure?” Mark still really, really wants to push inside her, especially when she decides brush her lips to his jaw and smooth her palms over his chest. But he has to ask.   
  
“I’m very, very sure, Mark,” she smiles. Addison’s eyes sparkle enough that it is clear she is not just putting on an act. “And it looks like you still are, too.” She sways her hips impatiently while he rolls down his boxer briefs.  
  
They both sigh happily when he slides into her. “Just make sure your voice doesn’t get loud as a substitute for your brain.” Mark grins as he starts to move and she wraps her long legs around his waist. “You can’t scream when we’ve got two kids upstairs sleeping.”  
  
“I’m not going to scream,” Addison responds, leaning back a little with one of his hands supporting her lower back.   
  
It takes a little time before she can add more to this thought though, especially once Mark starts to increase his pace and the depth of his thrusting. “And in the event I do get a little louder than I should – such as…a few minutes ago for example – thank goodness for two flights of stairs. And motion sensor lights along the way.”  
  
Mark’s tongue and lips are otherwise engaged with one of her nipples, but he just can’t help himself and reluctantly breaks contact. “Like you’re capable of hearing _anything_ once you start moaning, or _seeing_ anything when your eyes are rolling back in your head,” he says, starting to breathe heavier, especially when she tightens her muscles around him and her heels dig harder into his sacrum.   
  
“Then you’re…officially…on lookout,” Addison pants between urgent thrusts, feeling heat drift up her chest. Her fingernails dig into his shoulders. “And hear-out. But I’m not – oh, God – doing either of those things right now, I’ll have you know.”  
  
“And I’ll have _you_ know…” Mark slips a hand between them. “You’re about to. Probably in thirty more seconds.”  
  
He’s right.   
  
\------  
  
“Addison…” Mark sets a hand on one of her knees to steady her as she bounces up and down on her toes, waiting. “You’re gonna be fine. Just be honest. Think of it as talking with me, but with someone vastly more qualified…and probably less annoying. Also, do you want coffee or hot chocolate?”   
  
“What?” She glances over at him, following the first part, but not the second. Any minute now, the therapist Maggie and her psychiatrist got her connected with is going to open the door splitting the waiting room from individual offices. Her name will be called.  
  
“For after,” he clarifies. “Before your appointment is over, I’ll grab something from the cart. I mean, if you want green juice I’ll go against everything I stand for and get that for you, but -”  
  
“Oh. Hot chocolate sounds good.” Addison manages a weak grin. “Thank you.”  
  
\------  
  
They are quiet as they wander through the Conservatory Garden, but Mark knows exactly where Addison is leading him as they pass lilac trees shading the south side of the garden. The location is her idea, but the suggestion to get some air after her appointment was his. She came out of her therapy session wearing a brave smile, but Mark noticed her face had the pale, tired quality of someone who had been crying. Not _hard_ crying, not _consistent_ crying, but some tears all the same.  
  
“I want to talk about it a little,” Addison says when they reach _The Secret Garden_ fountain and sculpture. Mark stares down at the cream-colored lilies mingling on the water’s surface, waiting for her to continue. “Just…maybe not until tonight. Or tomorrow. I’m still trying to process. But I’m okay, Mark. Emotionally drained, but I’m glad I went, actually.”   
  
“Good. I’m glad you did, too. And whenever you want to talk, I’m all ears. But, Addison?” He gives her a teasing grin, knowing she could probably use a laugh. “I already know you spent the whole hour just talking shit about me.”  
  
“Not the _whole_ hour,” Addison jokes back. “Only the first forty-five minutes.” She sees their shadows reflected in the water, holding hands and standing close, when an opening spreads between two lily pads. She remembers, suddenly, how many things lilies symbolize.  
  
Mourning and rebirth are the ones that come to mind the most.  
  
\------  
  
Mark blinks in surprise when he sees a text message from Addison: _Can you please come downstairs?_ She went down to the kitchen to get a glass of water once both kids were asleep. Something tells him that her request has nothing to do with a repeat performance of the counter sex they had last week.  
  
“Oh, hey…” Mark says softly when he finds Addison on the couch, knees curled to her chin and tears shining on her cheeks. He takes a seat beside her and presses a hand to her back. “Addie, what’s wrong?”  
  
“I just…I just feel bad because Kate brought up her birthday while I was tucking her in, and she…she…” Addison shakes her head, needing a minute. She releases the tight grip she has on her knees so she can lift her hips and get settled in Mark’s lap. She tucks her head under his chin.  
  
“She did that with me this morning, too. The sheer nerve of her, even daring to bring it up when _my_ birthday is next,” he murmurs to fill in the pause, and succeeds in getting Addison to release a light giggle. “Tell me what’s upsetting you though.” He guides one hand around the curve of her waist, and uses the other to trace circles on her back. “Whenever you’re ready.”  
  
Addison waits until the muscles in her throat relax. “Kate mentioned her birthday, so I asked what she wanted…and she said she just wants me to still be happy. I barely made it out of the room before I started crying.”  
  
“Addison…” Mark brushes his lips to her forehead. “I don’t doubt that she wants you to stay happy, but that’s definitely not the _only_ thing Kate wants. She told me she wants Rebecca or Lucinda. You know, American Girl dolls.”  
  
“She already has -”  
  
“Kit. And a Bitty Baby. God, I hate that I know that. Anyway. You’d be very proud of me – I told her that maybe she should think of something else to ask for since lots of little girls don’t even have one American Girl doll. So she said she wants a stuffed wolf and a bike. One without training wheels.”  
  
Addison gives him a weak smile. “Have fun teaching her. I flipped over my handlebars once when I was seven and rarely, rarely rode a bike after that. The occasional spin class doesn’t count. Those wheels aren’t going anywhere.”  
  
“I’ll do my best. All that is to say…Kate is an incredibly thoughtful kid, Addison, but I wouldn’t submit her application for sainthood just yet. Your happiness is just one of many, many things she probably wants.”  
  
“But I don’t want what I’ve gone through – what I’m _going_ through – to color her childhood,” Addison whimpers. “Kate shouldn’t have to worry about me. I want her to just be a kid.”  
  
Mark shakes his head. “She _is_ being a kid. And you’re being a mom. You play with her. You read with her. You talk with her and spend time with her and you make her eat her vegetables. Hell, she was even a bit whiny tonight about the carrots. She wouldn’t have been like that if she was afraid of how you’d react. Addison, you had a few really hard weeks and in all that time you only lost it on her _once_. And you said sorry and you guys talked about it. We all make mistakes – Kate knows that. So isn’t it possible that she wants you to stay happy because she loves you, not because it affected her personally?”  
  
Addison shrugs. “She’s five. I’m sure it’s a combination of both. Just because I apologized and she seemed to understand via a mucus comparison…apologizing won’t make her forget that night. Even if it isn’t something she thinks about anymore or even if the memory fades _completely_ one day, it’s still…there, in a sense. It’s something that happened. So she and I will both carry that.”  
  
“Maybe what she’ll end up carrying from that experience is more compassion. And understanding, because pain isn’t always visible and we don’t always know what someone else is going through.” Mark strokes her tear-soaked cheek with his knuckles when she nods. “Please try to talk about this with Renee, too,” he adds. “I’m one of your floaties and we can talk about this as much as you want, but you have to talk about this at therapy, too. It’s weighing on you. And you need to eventually be able to forgive yourself.”  
  
“I will.” She sniffles and offers a small smile. “And thank you for being one of my floaties. My iPad is in our room. Let’s go look at bikes. I bet Kate would love one with streamers. And you know, she…she _was_ kind of being a butthead about the carrots tonight. But so were you, for that matter.”  
  
“Well, no shit. That’s who she gets it from.”  
  
\------  
  
“I’m ready for you to leave,” Addison announces to Mark one morning in mid-April. Lauren has just left with Kate to take her to school. And Mark, understandably, gives his wife a confused look at this statement. “Sorry,” she tacks on quickly. “I could have said that much, much better. I’m not ready for you to go back to work yet, Mark, but…I’m ready to spend some alone time with Henry. Like, _alone_ -alone. Without you in the house.”  
  
He grins at this determination. “I can finish my coffee first, right? And get dressed?”  
  
“Yes.” Addison laughs. “You stay, actually. I think I’ll take him to Central Park. It’s such a nice day.” Addison knows she isn’t quite ready for _two_ on her own without experiencing crushing anxiety and _I’m not good enough_ feelings, especially at the park (Kate has wanted to do a lot more bike-riding lately). But this – _this_ she can handle.   
  
Mark knows she can handle it, too, but he keeps his cell close by, _just in case_. His phone ends up chirping with an alert a half hour later, and he slides his index finger to view the image attachment from Addison. It’s a selfie of Addison and Henry, and Mark has to say, she did an incredible job balancing the phone in one hand and keeping Henry steady in the other, _and_ also getting Henry to look at the camera and smile. Sunlight threads around them in the backdrop, illuminating their hair and faces. Henry looks adorable, per usual. Addison looks beautiful, per usual. But Mark also sees something else. In her eyes. Or her smile. Or her subtle laugh lines. Maybe all three. She looks like _herself_.  
  
He thinks this picture is one worth printing and framing. Addison agrees. The photo finds a home on their staircase wall a few days later.  
  
\------  
  
Addison lightly fingers the Columbia blue-colored paper graduation cap and flimsy diploma Kate has left her with so she can join the rest of the newly graduated Kindergartners on the playground. It’s a beautiful June morning.  
  
“Do you think we won’t have to hear her singing that damn song anymore?” Mark asks hopefully. It was a quick promotion ceremony, the entire class giggly and squirmy as they received their diplomas. It ended with them singing an acoustic version of “With My Own Two Hands,” with very little harmonization. The song was not a surprise to Mark and Addison; Kate has been practicing it at home for the better part of three weeks.  
  
“God willing. I’m not sure what you’re more excited about though: potentially never hearing that song again, or the fact that you noticed there is considerably less hand-holding between Kate and Andrew lately.”   
  
Mark laughs as he adjusts a gurgling Henry in his arms. “Oh, you _definitely_ know which one I’m more excited about,” he says, utterly relieved that his daughter’s crush appears to be over. For now, at least.  
  
“I figured. By the way, we need to remember to have Kate take an upside-down diploma photo when we get home. So start thinking about what we can bribe her with,” Addison says with a grin.   
  
“Last year was a trip to Chelsea Waterside. I’m sure she’ll have tougher negotiating skills this time around.”  
  
“Yes. And I know you remember, but it was at that bribery splash pad that I told you I was pregnant.” Addison leans over to nuzzle her nose against Henry’s. “And later this month you’ll be five months old, my little love.” She straightens back up, and due to wearing flats instead of heels (an uncharacteristic choice, but definitely the right call while walking across an uneven, crack-filled blacktop), she has to look up at Mark. “Hey, Mark?” She says softly. He turns towards her, eyes shifting away from their monkey bars aficionado daughter.   
  
“I’m ready for you to go back to work,” Addison says. “If you want to start with reduced hours or something at first, that would probably be good, but I’m ready. Renee thinks so, too. And I promise I’ll tell you if I think it’s getting to be too much and I want you to come home, but I don’t think that’s going to happen. And I’ll be ready myself to go back to work…in September. Once Kate starts back at school. I could _probably_ be ready sooner, but I’d like to enjoy the summer with Henry and Kate first. I’m…I’m happy, Mark. And sad _less_. A lot less, actually. Manufactured serotonin makes me happy, but so do you and the kids.” Addison takes Henry into her arms, being sure to keep him facing outward. Henry is a total cuddle bug, but he is much more interested in the world around him now, and prefers to be held so that he has a better view. “So…so what you think?”  
  
Mark smiles and nods. “I think that’s a good plan, Red.” He threads a strand of hair back behind her ear, deciding he will tell her later – when it’s just the two of them and no rising first graders are shrieking in the background – how proud he is of her. How strong she is. How resilient she is.  
  
It’s been a little over three months on her antidepressant, with lots of ups and downs and forward and backward steps along the way. Early May was particularly rough; worsening feelings seemed to strike out of nowhere and started to weigh Addison down. She was honest about this though, and held Mark’s hand in an appointment with her psychiatrist and sobbed while explaining that things felt like they were getting _worse_. Doctor Castillo said all the right shrink-y things and increased her Zoloft dosage, which has helped, and weekly therapy is continuing to help. Things have been very steady for the past month.  
  
Mark wraps an arm around her, and Addison rests her head against his shoulder as she holds her son and watches her daughter flit around the playground. It really is a beautiful morning.  
  
\------


	55. Light Up, Light Up

**Chapter 55. Light Up, Light Up**

“Okay…this is just _stupid_ cute,” Mark says as he reaches for another item in the pile of clothes Addison has set aside for Henry. He holds up the yellow and white striped rash guard to show her…as if his wife wasn’t the one to purchase the swimsuit earlier in the week and the one to set it down on their bed just now while they work on getting everyone packed.   
  
“Right?” Addison smiles indulgently. “Henry is going to look like a little ball of sunshine. And I found that floppy hat Kate used to wear as a baby in the back of one of her drawers, which is perfect for the Cape. It’s in Henry’s room now; I’ll remember to grab it next time he’s awake.”  
  
Addison wishes they had gotten to packing a _bit_ earlier than the night before they leave to be one more family of Manhattanites escaping to the coast for the Fourth of July, but a little thing called “parenting” has kept them busy. She isn’t too stressed though about the last minute-ness. She has felt _good_ lately. And relaxed, or at least as relaxed as one can be with a six-year-old and a five month old.   
  
Mark nods. “Floppy hats are cute on babies.” Addison rolls her eyes in response, having not missed the pointedness of her husband’s comment.   
  
“They are, but I imagine that’s also your passive way of bringing up that bucket hat of mine you don’t like? I’ve worn it like _twice_ , Mark.”  
  
“Twice was enough. I love you, and I love everything about you, but not…that hat. It looks like something a drunk or hungover fisherman would wear. All you need is a giant stain on your shirt and some baggy sweatpants to complete the look. The way I feel about that hat of yours is probably the way you feel about me packing.”  
  
Addison agrees wholeheartedly with this comparison. “I don’t understand how you can be this _slow_. All you need to do is take that stack for Henry and place it in the suitcase. We’re leaving for Cape Cod in, oh, twelve hours. Do you think you’ll be done by then?”   
  
“I have a _system_ , Red. And you know, there are some things that I do slowly that you actually _like_ …I’d be happy to remind you of the specifics of those things once we’re done here.”  
  
“Whenever that is. But…speaking of packing. I…I was thinking I’d like to do something special with Kate next month – like a mother-daughter thing. I wanted to do it for her birthday since her spring recess was around the same time, but…” Addison trails off with a limp shrug, since she does not really need to finish the statement for Mark’s benefit. The shame of having struggled mentally throughout the winter and spring is not as prevalent now, but it is still overwhelming to talk about and to have to recap sometimes. She goes to therapy twice a month now rather than weekly, but it’s still just A Lot emotionally when it comes to sharing. “I was thinking about taking Kate to Paris for a few days. It’s not a guilt thing, like it’s not about the fact that this initially wasn’t the easiest year for her…I always imagined doing something like this with her when she was old enough to remember it, but young enough to still want to spend time with her mom. Same with Henry one day. I know that it’s a bit…well. It’s kind of excessive, right? A mother-daughter trip to Europe with a six year-old?”  
  
Mark shakes his head while carefully positioning a Yankees romper he has rolled in the suitcase designated for their son. “I mean, it’s not _not_ excessive, but you know Kate will love it and she’ll be so excited to do something like this with you,” he says. “We can’t really _help_ the fact that we both come from money…you especially. But we’re decent people and we work hard, so we might as well have some fun. It’s not like we never to give to charity or something.”  
  
Addison raises a mocking eyebrow. “What organizations do we donate to, Mark?”   
  
“Hell if I know. But I know _you_ do on our behalf. Plus, come on: think about some of the kids in Kate’s class and what they’re probably doing this summer. And I like those kids, except for that little shit who pulled Kate’s ponytail one time -”  
  
“Asher Hammond. At a birthday party. And Kate pushed him back, remember? She might have done more than that, too, if I hadn’t tugged her away. Also, they’re fine now. The only one hanging on to that memory is you.”  
  
“Would have served him right if Kate did more than just pushed him,” Mark grumbles. “Anyway, sorry. My point is that a few days in Paris is probably modest in comparison to what some NYC private school kids have on schedule for the summer.”  
  
“Would you be okay with having Henry solo for a few days though? Lauren hasn’t said anything about needing time off next month – I was thinking mid-August for Paris – but I don’t -”  
  
“Yeah, of course. I can take a few days off, too. The boy and I will do some manly bonding. Oh. Hey…” Mark’s expression shifts to one of concern when he notices Addison’s hands pinch around their comforter. She angles her face away from him, but not before he sees her eyes grow shiny with tears. “Why are you about to cry? C’mere.”  
  
“Because…” she whimpers, lips pulling apart and quivering as Mark moves forward to slide his arms around her. “Because I’m thinking about leaving Henry next month and I already miss him. I’m crying because I’m going to miss _Henry_. And I didn’t…I didn’t…last winter I wouldn’t have felt this way. About anything…but especially about my sweet baby boy. So I’m happy and sad and mostly _relieved_. It’s just…a lot of feelings.”  
  
“I get it,” Mark says quietly. “I’m just going to hug you while you feel your feelings then. Tell me if you need anything.”  
  
She sniffles into his shoulder. “Besides stronger tear ducts?”  
  
“You’re fine. It’s okay to cry. What is it Kate says about crying?”  
  
“We cry because we’re real. I just happen to be very, _very_ real.”  
  
Mark touches his nose to her cheek. “I’m glad you’re real, Addison.”  
  
“Cheesy.”  
  
“Yep. Deal with it.”  
  
“Th-thank you,” Addison responds once the tears have stopped and she feels steadier. Mark loosens his arms and drops them to her hips, giving her the opportunity to take a step back. “And I’ll miss you too when I’m out of the country, for the record.” She wipes at her eyes.  
  
“I figured you might. So you’re okay?”   
  
“Yeah.” She shows him a smile. “Much better. Thanks for being on board with this. I’ll bring some stuff back for you and Hennybug. Food, obviously – I just gained five pounds thinking about all the pastries. I’ll also grab a few Parisian outfits for Henry that he won’t care about at all, and some sort of overpriced toy set. And what about you?” Addison leans up to press her lips to his, taking her time with a long and slow kiss. “What should I bring back as a souvenir for you?”  
  
“A French maid costume.” Mark catches her before she can pull away, and uses a hand to scrape her hair over one shoulder, exposing her neck. His mouth moves against the soft skin under her jaw, leaving a series of kisses. “For you to wear. Not me, obviously.”  
  
“Yeah. That’s not happening.”  
  
“ _This_ isn’t happening?” Mark says, voice low and gravelly as his lips play over her neck. He changes course suddenly, burying a warm kiss in the dip of her throat. He grins when he hears Addison’s wobbly inhale – an attempt to not make noise, especially in the middle of bantering, when who will end up on top (verbally) is at stake. Mark isn’t quite ready to concede yet though. His hands are grasping the back of her toned thighs now, so he moves his palms up and down against her silk pajama bottoms a few times, grinning wider when he succeeds in drawing a lazy groan out of her. “Or the French maid thing isn’t happening?”  
  
“Both.” Addison takes a deliberately large step backwards, not entirely trusting herself to keep the conversation going and be on top (again, verbally) if she doesn’t extract herself from his embrace. “Nothing is happening between us tonight though until you finish packing…and the thing that involves me wearing a skimpy outfit and carrying around a feather duster is just not happening, period.”  
  
Mark smirks. “I mean. It _could_.”  
  
“But it won’t. I hope you like destination fridge magnets.”  
  
“…I kind of do, actually. Can I say one more thing though?”  
  
“I’d prefer if you didn’t…” Addison says with an amused look. “But I know that never stops you. Then it’s right back to packing, mister.”  
  
“I’m just gonna remind you…Halloween is only a few months away.”  
  
“Still not happening, Mark.”   
  
\------  
  
Addison sways gently in the rocking chair with Henry, ushering him towards sleep as she tries to soak this time in; she and Kate leave for Paris tomorrow night. She thinks she will remember for the rest of her life how Kate’s blue eyes widened when she told her they were going to go to Paris: “Mommy!” Kate had shrieked. “That’s where Madeline is from! In the _books_.”  
  
She focuses on her son now, who will be seven months old next week. The moments and memories with Henry so far are no less significant, but just…smaller. They _have_ to be smaller – he is a baby and Kate is a child, after all. Kate made her a mother, but Addison thinks in some ways that Henry has _taught_ her how to be a mother, maybe even how to be more human. She has worked very, very hard with her therapist to process her depression, anxiety, and a myriad of other emotions she has either judged herself for feeling or not feeling. Guilt has been a big one, though. Renee has reminded her more than once that Kate was nearing six when Henry was born, so Addison has had _years_ to bond with her daughter, and time to bond with Kate as a _person_ , not just as a baby. Her deep emotional attachment to Kate has only grown over the years, so the fact that what Addison felt for Henry didn’t rise to That Level when her son was first born…that’s okay. That doesn’t make her a bad person or a bad mother. And Renee – and everyone else who offered similar reassurance along the way – was right. It was gradual rather than an instantaneous lightning bolt of attachment, but once it happened, it _happened_. And now Addison cannot imagine life without her son. Her heart has expanded to include Henry, and she has stopped trying to measure and quantify love. She just knows that she loves her son.   
  
Henry is by all accounts an “easy baby,” but at bedtime the inevitably inherited Montgomery and Sloan stubbornness kicks up a notch. He won’t fall asleep lately unless his body is curled tightly against Addison’s stomach and his head is on her chest (or Mark’s, because at least he isn’t picky about the caregiver). Kate liked to fall asleep as a baby in a cradle hold, hazily blinking up at her mother, which Addison adored, but she thinks that maybe she likes this position a little better. From this angle, she can’t really see Henry’s sweet face as he’s drifting off, but there is something to be said for the content, drowsy little sighs her son releases whenever she cuddles him closer, and the way one of his hands moves over her chest and collarbone.  
  
“I’ll miss you every second of every day that I’m gone, Hennybug,” Addison whispers, stroking the fine golden brown fuzz on the back of Henry’s head. “You think about where you want to go someday, and when you’re five or six, you and I will do a special trip together. I’m not sure yet what you’ll like. I know right now you like Tigger, but a trip to the Hundred Acre Wood just probably isn’t in the cards for us, kiddo. I know you also love to _eat_ though. Maybe we’ll do Italy and go to town on pasta.”  
  
\------  
  
Addison can hear faint rustling on the hotel bed next to her, but she keeps her eyes closed for now. For whatever reason, her mind jumps to making a guess at New York time first, rather than her current time zone. _Probably a little after midnight there_ , she thinks. _I bet Mark caved and Henry is sleeping with him._ The latter thought makes her happy. She will ask later about the caving. Their last exchange yesterday was a picture Addison texted Mark of the two redheads in front of the Eiffel Tower. Or three redheads, technically. Kate was clutching her Madeline doll in the picture.   
  
She mentally runs through the very loose plan for the morning – room service for breakfast (honestly, possibly the highlight of the trip so far for Kate), and then the Luxembourg Gardens (Jardin du Luxembourg, the left side of her brain corrects), because Kate will go crazy over the playground, carousel, and little boats (the gardens and the palace itself, probably less so). Lunch somewhere, maybe at the café they went to yesterday. Shopping at some point. Then maybe one of the more kid-friendly museums she’s looked into. Maybe. Addison will wait and see what Kate thinks – her daughter is a good little travel companion, but she definitely has opinions. There has been _some_ structure and organization to the trip, but not a lot. She has embraced Ideas more than Plans for this trip. And it’s working out wonderfully.  
  
The rustling sound tips up in volume, followed by a crunch, and Addison smiles, knowing exactly what is going on. It’s going to be a rough adjustment for Kate (and her, too), when they are back home and there aren’t boxes of treats on the nightstand. She waits until the remaining crunches are finished before she opens her eyes. A malt-splashed morning sky of the 7th arrondissement is visible out the window behind her daughter’s head.  
  
“Hi, early bird,” Addison says, thoroughly amused as Kate quickly angles herself away from the bakery box and wiggles around to face her. “Whatcha doing?”  
  
“Mommy, _you_ are an early bird, too.” Kate smiles sheepishly when her mother is not in any way distracted by this proclamation, and merely raises an eyebrow, waiting for her question to be answered. “I was going to wake you up…” Kate scoots back over to Addison’s side of the bed. “To ask you if I could have a Macaron before we have breakfast.”  
  
“Mm-hmm.” Addison moves her thumb along the corner of her daughter’s mouth. “You missed a crumb on your face. A red crumb…like red velvet. I think you already _did_ have a Macaron, sneaky girl.”  
  
“I just had one,” Kate replies with a raspy giggle. “Not red velvet though – I had one of the raspberry ones. But there are still lots of colors in there still.” This has been an ongoing joke. Addison has told her daughter that she is certain she will open this box at some point and only the pistachio cookie will be left, due to Kate’s automatic distrust of green food. Never mind the fact that pistachios are not vegetables.  
  
“I’m sure. We’ll definitely get more before we leave though. And this time we’ll just pick out the ones we want rather than asking for a random assortment…that way no pistachios end up coming back to New York with us. I bet your dad will like the chocolate ones best. _And_ , just like you, he won’t even want to try the green kind.”  
  
Kate flops down next to her, and Addison shifts her pillow over so they can share it. “Hey, Mommy? For Halloween can Henry be a Dalmatian?”  
  
“Oh,” Addison grins. “Sure. That’s a cute idea. You can help me pick out his puppy costume when it gets a little closer to Halloween.” _Between you and your father,_ she thinks. _Already talking about Halloween._  
  
“I want him to be a Dalmatian because I want to be a firefighter.”  
  
“A firefighter – I love that,” Addison says, working to keep the surprise out of her tone, because this wouldn’t have even been in her top twenty costume guesses for her daughter. “You’ll both look so good, Kate.”  
  
“What are you going to be? A witch again?” Kate asks. Her mommy doesn’t _really_ dress up for Halloween, but she will usually throw on a witch hat for when they go trick-or-treating. A witch who will eat any Butterfinger bars Kate gets, because she doesn’t really like those ones.  
  
 _Anything except what your father wants me to wear._  
  
“Yes,” Addison smirks. “A very evil, spooky witch.”  
  
Kate shakes her head. “I want you to be a _nice_ witch.”  
  
“I guess I can do that. Hey…can we sleep a bit more? Or you can play on the iPad if you want. I need to stay in bed for just thirty more minutes. Then we’ll go out and have another fun day.”  
  
“I’m going to sleep more, too,” Kate announces. “And also stay in bed, unless I have to go pee,” she adds. “Then I’ll get up.”  
  
“Makes sense. Good plan.”  
  
Addison makes a movement to reach a hand out to play with Kate’s hair, knowing that her daughter’s request to _do the hair thing_ is inevitable. Before she can though, Kate rests her palm on Addison’s cheek. “I love you, Mommy,” her daughter says softly.  
  
Some days Addison wonders how she managed this, if it is nature, nurture, or just pure magic that her Ordinary and Mark’s Ordinary came together and created something – some _one_ – extraordinary: a little girl who, among many wonderful things, loves easily and shares her heart so often.   
  
Addison takes the hand on her cheek and cradles it in her own in order to kiss each tiny knuckle. “I love you too, sweet girl.”  
  
“Mommy, can you -”  
  
“I can do the hair thing.”  
  
 _Mommy_. It is the beginning and end of so many of Kate’s sentences, and Addison knows that one day she will be wistful for this stage in her daughter’s life, for this particular quirk. She is often tired, and sometimes still anxious and sad, but she never gets tired of hearing _that_ word, the sing-song trill of two syllables that define so much of who she is, that reveal the chances and choices that have guided her through the past decade. All of this – Mark, Kate, Henry – everything started with a chance. Around this time seven years ago, she found herself newly pregnant after having blown up her marriage. She took a chance and moved into Mark’s apartment. She and Mark embraced another scary, staggering chance by deciding to have a baby. And then this little girl made them a family the following spring, on a rainy, mist-sheathed day.   
  
Addison doesn’t often think about the if-and-then of it all, how easily there could have been different outcomes, because it doesn’t serve much purpose; she loves the life she and Mark have created.   
  
She kisses the freckled slope of Kate’s nose when she notices the adjustment in her daughter’s breathing, indicating she has fallen asleep. She cuddles Kate – a chance she saw all the way through – closer, feeling her long, even breaths whisper against her chest, feather light. The peaceful rhythm lulls her back to sleep.  
  
\------  
  
Bands of sunlight slip through thin, rolling clouds on the first Saturday in early November. Mark watches how the light tinges the crown of his daughter’s head, making her red hair glow even more prominently as she collects more veined, dried leaves and brings them over to Mark and Henry. Kate is already wearing her soccer uniform, even though her game isn’t for several hours. She is currently fixated on a different game this morning though. She is making autumn leaves scattered throughout their backyard crackle “like Rice Krispies” beneath her feet, but is also bringing some of the leaves over to share with her brother, who is snuggled in Mark’s lap. Henry giggles each time Kate crushes a leaf in her fist close enough for him to see and hear, and Mark suddenly remembers one of the things Addison said right before Henry was born, when Mark was playing their “Five Questions” game with her in an attempt to get her to relax: _Henry will laugh the most for his sister_. And it’s definitely true.  
  
Addison got home from work late last night. Mark has handled everything this morning so she can sleep in. Her time away from the hospital – first for maternity leave and then, ultimately, a leave of absence – totaled almost nine months. She has liked being back at work and is even _happy_ about it, but it’s definitely been an adjustment. And today, Mark knows, will be really hard. It is the one-year anniversary of her father’s passing.  
  
“Don’t crush the orange ones,” Kate tells Mark when he reaches for a leaf to hand to Henry. “Only the red, yellow, and brown-dead ones. Orange is Henry’s favorite color.”  
  
“He told you that?” Mark jokes. Kate smiles at him, but Mark isn’t always certain when he says things like this if she _knows_ he is teasing her, or if she honestly does think he is stupid, just in a lovable way. _Both_ , he is certain his wife would say. “I’m just teasing. I know he hasn’t said any words yet. How do you know orange is his favorite color though?”  
  
Kate answers in a way that leaves no room for argument: “I just know.”  
  
Mark changes direction in order to reach for a non-orange leaf, but glances up when he hears one of the doors leading to the backyard being pushed open. Henry hears it too, and when he sees his mother, he flashes her a wide smile, revealing a few pearly baby teeth.   
  
“Hi, little love.” Addison comes out to sit next to Mark in the empty patio chair he has set beside his. She’s made some effort to make her face presentable, but is still in her pajamas and Uggs, covered with a warm robe. She takes Henry into her arms, and briefly presses her lips to Mark’s during the transfer. “Good morning. Thanks for letting me sleep in.”  
  
“You’re welcome,” he says softly. “I’m glad…I’m glad you’re up.”  
  
She nods, resting her chin on Henry’s head as he babbles away. “Me too. Hi, Kate,” she says a little louder to get her daughter’s attention.  
  
“Hi, Mommy,” Kate calls out brightly from the other side of the yard. “Mommy? Did you know this is Henry’s first time seeing this many leaves on the ground? He wasn’t here last November, so he’s never even _seen_ leaves like this before.”  
  
It makes Addison’s throat tighten. Henry wasn’t here last November.   
  
But her dad was. And then wasn’t.  
  
She feels Mark guide an arm over her shoulders, clearly able to follow her train of thought even though the words haven’t been said out loud. “You can stay home today, if you want,” he offers. “I can take Henry to Kate’s game. The Lightning Bugs will be okay in your absence.”  
  
Addison shakes her head. “No, it’s fine. I want to go. Thank you though, for the offer. I’m just going to need a really, really long hug from you later. Probably more than one – especially after I call my mom. And you’ll probably need to remind me to take slow breaths sometimes.”  
  
“You got it. Love you, Red.”  
  
“I love you, too. All three of you.” She holds her son a little tighter.  
  
She cried so hard and for so long when Mark told her that her dad had died. She worked herself into a frenzy that evening, hyperventilating, and was only able to settle herself after Mark reminded her that her son – still inside her – needed oxygen. So she breathed. She breathed for Henry. How could she not? She loved him then, as she loves him now. But that period was hard in some ways. Henry was wanted from the beginning, and perhaps wanted even _more_ after her dad passed. Death was going to usher in new life and all that. The birth of her son was something to look forward to. But Addison also can’t deny that grieving _while_ pregnant was hard. Her body didn’t just belong to her while she was initially coping with the loss of her dad. She still had to eat. She still had to stay hydrated. She had to move and take care of herself and toss back her prenatal vitamins. It was like Addison never got to be _alone_ , which made mild resentment start to brew underneath the anticipation of getting to meet her Hennybug. It took four months of therapy for this breakthrough to surface. And another two weeks after that before Addison felt comfortable enough to share the complexity of these feelings with her husband.  
  
She breathed for Henry the night her father died.   
  
Henry reaches a hand up to touch her face. Addison smiles as his little fingers move along her bottom lip. She pretends to eat them, which makes Henry throw his head back and belly laugh. He is a magical little boy; he is an all-consuming wonder who triggers her heart to beat a little faster when she so much as thinks about him. He makes life worth living.   
  
Addison still breathes for Henry. Just in a different way.   
  
For all three of her loved ones, really.  
  
\------


	56. Ribbons and All

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter I address what is arguably the thing Grey’s Anatomy and Private Practice have most in common: no one locks the effing door. Addison especially??? You have 572 specialties, girl. How is locking the door before sexy time such a difficult thing for you?! Also, I’ve been trying to blend fluff (and how weird little kids are, because honestly) and angst, since depression is a monster and healing is just very, very messy and doesn't happen overnight...so I really wanted to take my time with this storyline. It feels like it would be such a disservice to rush this. Hopeful that hasn't deterred anyone. ANYWAY. The PPD storyline is about wrapped up, and I’m hoping to end this beast maybe around chapter 60 (or 62. Because even number obvs).

**Chapter 56. Ribbons and All**  
  
Mark brings his hand down on top of the alarm clock to hit the snooze button the way he usually does – ridiculously melodramatic. Addison makes a demure, sleepy noise of acknowledgement when he fits himself back around her and traces his fingers along her jawline.   
  
“Happy Anniversary,” he whispers, breath warm against her neck. “Kate and Henry got you flowers.”   
  
“I’m sure they did.” Addison replies in a not-at-all-shocked tone. “Smart man. I see you found a workaround to our – well, _my_ – decision to not exchange gifts this year…”  
  
“Just flowers,” Mark says. “I promise. Well…and to-be-purchased-later iron frames. That one was pre-approved though.” This was an Addison suggestion because there was no way her husband wasn’t going to be annoyingly insistent about a traditional anniversary gift. Addison told him she wanted to have Darcy come in the New Year and take family photos. They had photos taken when Henry was a newborn, but beyond that, the last time a non-iPhone photo with decent lighting was taken was probably when Kate was three. And the traditional anniversary gift for year six is supposed to iron, and photos need frames, so: iron frames. Easy.   
  
“Anyway…” Mark adds. “Kate picked the flowers out. And, well. Red poinsettias. Orange sunflowers. And then a bunch of roses in different colors. And _sword_ ferns she for damn sure only selected because it’s kind of a cool name. The florist was utterly charmed by her.”  
  
“Wow. That’s a _choice_. It actually sounds lovely though.”  
  
“Yeah. They’re in the kitchen. She’s pretty…” he stifles a yawn. “Pretty excited for you to see them.” Mark strokes Addison’s hip and thigh beneath the covers while she vines her fingers around his other hand. Occasionally his lips connect with the soft slope dividing her neck and shoulder, but for the most part, they are subdued, hovering between relaxed and anticipation-tensed as they wait for the alarm to sound again. And this time, they’ll need to get up.   
  
It is just gentle touching, cuddling, and drowsy kisses most mornings. Especially on weekdays. Their kids – a tangible part of their love story, or, on days they are feeling less generous, absolute pains in the ass – make getting out of the house something of an _ordeal_. Pre-kids, they had a lot of morning sex. A lot. Possibly an unreasonable amount, if that can be considered a _thing_. There were times they would be completely ready for work and then Mark would be, well, _Mark_. And then Addison would head to Bellevue with hair that was…fine. A little rumpled, perhaps, but nothing that outright screamed her husband-then-boyfriend had tugged her back down on the bed and basically flung her around like a sexual dish towel before they left (not that she ever complained).   
  
But they still have _options_ , at least. Their kids might be early birds, but they are also deep, deep sleepers. And Henry sleeps through the night now.   
  
“See you back here later?” Mark says, which makes her laugh.  
  
“Looking forward to it.”   
  
\------  
  
It is _freezing_ out – there is no other way they can think to describe the coldness settling deep in their joints on Friday as they make their way back inside their home after a nice dinner to celebrate their anniversary. It is a beautiful night though. A deep blue sky with crystalline stars hangs overhead. But, still. Inside means warmth. And adult-specific activities, once they relieve their nanny.  
  
“Kate left you a note, by the way,” Lauren says as she puts her coat on.  
  
“A check-the-box thing to see if we went in to tell her good night while she was asleep?” Addison asks.  
  
“Yes. And…” Lauren grins. “You both need to go in. There _are_ check boxes, but there are also lines for you to sign your names. So unless one of you is really, really good at forgery…”  
  
Mark shakes his head in amusement. “God, I adore that clever little weirdo.”  
  
“Same. You guys made some good ones. Well, I’m gonna head out -”   
  
“Text -” they both interject like the parents they are.  
  
“I swear I’ll text when I get home, Mom and Dad,” Lauren says with a tolerant, but appreciative smile. “And I just texted Delaney to let her know I’m on my way, so. All bases covered.”  
  
“All right. I’ll sign first.” Addison makes this decision after they wave goodbye and Mark closes the front door. “How about you just stand here for a sec and think whatever sexual base-related puns and jokes you need to in your head so I don’t have to hear them.”  
  
“I’m okay with that. But anniversary iron _rod_ and _pole_ jokes aren’t off the table yet, just so you know.”  
  
“I figured.”  
  
\------  
  
Addison glances down at the tulle cups and Italian satin holding up her breasts, and beneath them, the matching panties slung low on her hips. She is back to her pre-baby weight, but has to remind herself anyway not to pinch experimentally at her stomach or the skin around her hips. Mark doesn’t care. And she _mostly_ doesn’t care. It’s gotten better, at least. Depression meant – or it might have been separate from depression and was just one more tremendously shitty mindfuck of a thing to have to deal with on top of feeling depressed – lower self-esteem. It didn’t necessarily matter how much sex they had and how often Mark’s hands were all over her; it still took time to feel good about her body again. Addison busies herself now with fingering a bra strap while she waits for her husband to come down from the third floor. Deep blue. A pretty color, but not her usual choice for lingerie. Mark loves her in black, but she has so much black stuff already, and realistically, he probably likes her in anything. And the look on Mark’s face when he shuts the door behind him and finds Addison sitting on the edge of the bed, palms stretched back against the comforter, definitely confirms it.   
  
“Damn,” Mark says, eyes unapologetically wandering up and down her body. He hungrily drinks in her appearance. Addison grins and blinks up at him through a flutter of thick lashes, eyes seductive and heavy-lidded. Yes, she wanted to go up first so she wouldn’t have to hear any of his stupid rounding third and sliding into home comments, but Mark knows now that the head start _also_ allowed her to slip out of her dress. “Look at you. How did I get so lucky?”   
  
“It’s no French Maid costume, but I figured you’d like it…” she grins teasingly and lies back when Mark settles next to her on the bed, propped up on an elbow to continue checking her out. “Though I imagine you’ll like it even better when it’s on the floor,” Addison tacks on, leaning towards him when his fingers drag through her hair, gently pulling. She closes the remaining inches between them, kissing him deeply and slinking her tongue against his.  
  
“You’re beautiful,” Mark murmurs, breaking away from her lips to trail kisses along the curve of her jawline. Because it’s true. The change in Addison’s breathing – the subtle increase of air being drawn in and out – is evident as soon as he sucks on a section of skin under her ear. “And really…” the hand not in her hair moves along her thighs, inching closer to where she is wordlessly trying to direct him. Mark stalls briefly to listen to the little noises of encouragement she’s making. “Really fucking hot.” Also true. Just less romantic. Not that Addison _minds_ , especially when Mark – somehow everywhere at once – cups her through her panties. She rocks her hips in response, trying to increase the friction. Mark gives her what she wants, and she sighs in pleasure when he hooks two fingers inside the lace barrier between them. She shares a husky whisper in his ear, words very non-Connecticut as she tells him how much she wants him. What he does to her.  
  
Mark groans into her shoulder, wrist flicking and fingers building a steady rhythm inside her. “Fuck. You’re too good for my ego, you know.”  
  
“Believe me, I know…” Addison inhales sharply, knowing she needs to pump the brakes for a moment. “But, hey. Sorry. You need to get up -”  
  
“Already up.”   
  
“Yeah, I’m aware. Oh…” she shudders when his thumb grazes over her. “I was going to say you need to get up and go lock our bedroom door.” With a lot of effort (a _lot_ ), Addison uses her elbows to push herself back, exposing Mark’s fingers again. He sighs in disappointment, but complies with her request. “It occurred to me recently…” Addison continues. “And why only just _recently_ , I don’t know…but it has occurred to me how incredibly _dumb_ we are when we start fooling around. I blame you for that,” she says, which isn’t entirely fair. “But we need to be better about locks since, you know…”  
  
Mark offers a quiet response over his shoulder. “It’s probably a good idea to not scar our children for life. Especially the non-ambulatory one.”  
  
“Yep.” Addison takes the opportunity while the door is being locked to unhook her bra and slide her panties down her legs. Mark gives her an approving grin when he makes his way back.  
  
“Hey there…” he hovers over her, voice low and sultry enough that she wiggles impatiently beneath him. “Scoot to the edge of the bed for me.”  
  
Addison arches an eyebrow. “And why should I do that?” She asks, keeping her tone purposely innocent.  
  
Mark chuckles while urging her legs apart. “Cute. We might be dumb together and I’m _definitely_ dumb independently, but you’re not. You know exactly why.”  
  
\------  
  
Snow falls silently outside, barely visible through the window panes etched with frost. Kate rubs her lips together thoughtfully. The icy, white-covered street looks blurry from where she is sitting.   
  
“I bet this is what it would look like on the inside of a snow globe,” she says. Her mother is out of the room, in search of a mini toy broom because they both agree that would work best as a pretend paddle, since they don’t have an actual paddle. Henry is in the laundry basket with Kate, but he doesn’t know what she’s talking about, so she is really just saying this for herself. Henry also doesn’t know the laundry basket is a pirate ship and he is First Mate, but he gives Kate a big smile anyway and she smiles back. They have _opposite_ teeth now, Kate told her dad yesterday. Henry had several teeth break the surface this fall, and Kate has lost her two front tops and bottoms. Christmas is just a week away, but, contrary to the song, Kate does not particularly want her front teeth. She likes the little space. It’s like a window inside her mouth.  
  
“Mmm…” Henry babbles. “Mmm.”   
  
“Arghhh…” Kate growls back, like a pirate. This makes her brother giggle.   
  
She tucks _Ten Little Pirates_ by her side since Henry doesn’t seem interested in having her read it aloud. He is playing with a plush fish instead. The fish was _supposed_ to be outside the laundry basket on the blue blanket (the sea) with other aquatic-themed toys, but the fish and the TV remote are Henry’s favorite toys. And it’s keeping him busy and at least he isn’t trying to chew on the empty paper towel roll anymore (the spyglass). Kate mostly understands though. At least Henry can do fun things now. He can laugh and crawl and take little steps if he is holding onto furniture. Kate thinks of Bailey Shepherd, Meredith and Derek’s son, who was born a few days before Halloween. It’s hard to remember her brother being that little once, but he really was, and although he was cute then, Henry couldn’t _do_ anything. Now Henry is what her parents call “active.” And “curious.” Anyway, so even though Kate wants to meet Baby Bailey in person, she is kind of glad Mommy and Daddy said they will fly to Seattle _next_ summer. Next summer Bailey will be old enough to be more fun.  
  
“Found it,” Addison says as she comes back into the living room, holding the toy broom. A gentle, silvery little noise bubbles from her son when he sees and hears her. _Mama_. Addison gasps as Henry’s lips press together again. _Mama_.  
  
“Mommy!” Kate yelps excitedly. “Did you hear that? He said ‘mama.’ Good job, Chicken Hen-Hen. You are so, so smart.” They have heard lots of babbles and funny, copycat sounds before. But that. That was a _word_. Henry looked right at their mother and said it.  
  
“Mama,” Henry says again, even softer this time.  
  
Addison drinks in the happy sheen in her son’s blue eyes as she paces across the living room, distractedly handing the broom-paddle to her daughter and sinking down next to the laundry basket. Henry’s eyes are maybe a bit greener near the pupils than hers, but for the most part, they match one another. On her son’s sweet face though, his eyes remind Addison of polished gemstones. _Kyanite_ , she thinks. It’s an unexpected comparison perhaps, but she is no stranger to crystals of any sort. Kate – for sure a Celestite – has an old _National Geographic_ all about rocks and minerals that frequently gets thumbed through.  
  
“Yes, Hennybug,” Addison says, voice thick. Henry’s fingers are curled around the lip of the laundry basket, and she caresses the dimples dotting the skin on the back of his hands. “That’s right. Mama. I’m your ‘mama.’”  
  
“Mommy?” Kate asks. Her eyes grow wide beneath the brim of her pirate hat. “Why are you crying?”  
  
“Oh.” Addison quickly raises her shoulder to swipe her wet cheek against her Yale sweatshirt. “It’s okay, sweetie,” she says. “I’m okay. These are happy tears. I didn’t think Henry’s first word would be ‘mama,’ that’s all.” She takes a deep breath. “It’s a really nice surprise.”  
  
“He said ‘mama’ because you’re a really _good_ ‘mama.’ That’s why.”  
  
Addison manages a bright smile. “Thank you, Captain Kate of the Seven Seas. That’s so nice of you to tell me that. I’m okay though. I promise.”   
  
Kate studies her mother closely, still a little wary. _Depression_. It took a while to say the word right. She heard it a few times last spring, and it was always said in a quick whisper, so in addition to not knowing how it was pronounced, she thought maybe it was a bad word. She knows now – because she asked Daddy, and later, she asked Mommy – that it means _sad_. And it’s not a bad word, but it is a bad _feeling_. It’s when your brain is hurting your feelings, and it usually happens to older people, or at least not someone Kate’s age. And it’s not a regular sad, not really…Kate thinks that depression actually means Big Sad. It’s like a bad dream where even though you are trying so, so hard, you just can’t run fast enough if you are being chased or escape if you are trapped or stop your body if you start to fall – and maybe people with Big Sad feel like that when they are awake, too.  
  
“Sometimes grownups cry because they have so much love in their hearts. Especially parents…” Addison continues, searching hastily for the words. One of her hands is still gripping Henry’s, and she uses her other one to push a few long hairs off Kate’s cheek. “So I’m just crying a little because I love you and Henry so much. I promise I’m okay, Kate. I’m not sad. Not sad or Big Sad, if that’s what you’re wondering. It’s just a big _feeling_ , that’s all. I felt like this when _you_ said your first word too. It made my heart feel happy and full. Your first word was ‘Dada.’”   
  
“Oh. I said ‘Dada’ first and Henry said ‘Mama’ first,” Kate says, thinking this through. “That means you _and_ Daddy got to hear your name first once.”  
  
Addison nods through her lingering tears. “Yes,” she says with a smile and a peaceful sigh. Her heart does feel happy and full, but it also feels _light_. “That’s true. Daddy and I both got to have this special feeling. We have it all the time with you and Henry, actually.”  
  
\------  
  
Mark and Addison sit on the edge of Kate’s bed, quietly taking turns flipping through the pages of _The Night Before Christmas_. Their voices are low to ensure they don’t wake Henry, who is sleeping nearby in his Pack ‘N Play. Kate’s stuffed elephant, pillow, and sleeping bag are positioned next to the Pack ‘N Play. It has been somewhat of an _eventful_ evening, and Christmas Eve is eventful anyway even on non-argumentative evenings. Kate desperately, desperately wanted to have a sleepover with Henry, insisting that is what siblings _do_ the night before Christmas. They get to sleep together and wear matching pajamas. (The latter was previously handled: cozy fleece pajamas with polar bears).  
  
“Next year,” Addison said when Kate was angling to have Henry sleep in her bed with her. “Henry’s still a baby, so we have to be really careful with how and where he sleeps.” Kate proceeded to tear up and whine though without any hesitation (Santa is in the _air_ right now. He can’t possibly track the Naughty and Nice lists anymore) until Addison came up with a solution Kate was mostly okay with. The Pack ‘N Play was already out, anyway – they will be bringing it when they head to Greenwich on the twenty-sixth to spend a few days with Addison’s mother. And now their daughter has returned to her mostly-sweet self while Mark and Addison finish the bedtime story, and then usher Kate into her sleeping bag.  
  
Mark wanders around the house to turn off all the lights, and to also handle on-off buttons and cords for any decorations still illuminated – classic dad task. It takes a few minutes, because holiday cheer has been heavily established on all three floors. When he finally gets down to the first floor, he finds Addison curled on the couch, thoughtfully taking in their Christmas tree and undoubtedly looking at a piece of tinsel she wants to move a quarter inch to the left. The lights wrapped around the tree – always the last thing to be unplugged – are still going strong.  
  
“Hey. Should we put presents out now, or set the alarm for an ungodly hour?” Mark asks. He defers to Addison on all Christmas-related matters.  
  
“Let’s give it a half hour or so to make sure the whiny one stays put. We can hang here and enjoy the lights. I just…” her voice hitches. “I really love this time of year.”  
  
“I know you do.” Mark sits down next to her. “You’ve been…you’ve been crying more lately,” he says slowly. Her cheeks immediately flame with color, and he wraps both arms around her, shaking his head at any brewing apologies. “You’re not a burden, Addie. It’s just an observation. And…a question, I guess.”  
  
Addison manages a small nod. It’s true. And it’s also coming up on a year. Henry’s birth. Everything that followed. And even after all this time, they both occasionally still feel a tender disbelief that this happened to her.  
  
“I think it’s just…the time of year. Christmas makes me a sap anyway, especially because we have kids and the holidays are just a bit more magical with little ones. And Henry said ‘mama’ last week. It’s kind of like I told Kate: it’s not sadness. It’s just Big Feelings. But today I’ve…I’ve just been thinking today that it’ll be…well. Henry’s birthday is next month. And I started on Zoloft in early March, so we’ll blink and then it will have been a year. And I know there’s no timeline or deadline. But I’m just telling you now because it’s been on my mind today…I think I’d like to cut therapy down to once rather than twice a month, but I don’t…” Addison forces herself to take a slow, calming breath. “I don’t feel ready to attempt to wean off Zoloft yet. I don’t feel anywhere _near_ ready.”  
  
“And that’s fine. Like you said: no timelines or deadlines.”  
  
“Right. It’s just that sometimes I wonder if this is…if this is just who I am now.” Addison’s voice vaults up at the end, and like Mark’s earlier comment, it is as much a question as it is a statement. Tears gather in her eyes. “I had – or have, I guess, even though it’s under control – Postpartum depression. But maybe this is also who I am now, and how I’m wired. Like, even _without_ Postpartum, maybe I’m just someone who experiences clinical depression now.”  
  
Mark guides her head to his shoulder. “If that’s the case, you’ll keep taking your medication. And you’ll talk to Doctor C. and Renee and figure out a plan, or modify the current plan if you need to. And you’ll talk to me and we’ll just keep getting through it. I love who you are. I _don’t_ love that sometimes you feel terrible and I would do absolutely anything to take that away from you, but I love who you are, Addison. And if this is how your brain chooses to work now, we’re just going to do whatever we can to make sure that you stay well. Because you deserve that.”  
  
“I want Henry…” Addison says quietly. She then takes a pause to give some consideration to how she wants to explain this. “I want my son, but I also wish I had the ability to mess around with time travel and make some alterations. I wish Henry could be here and that I could _also_ go back to the day before my dad died. And that I didn’t have Postpartum depression. But that’s not possible. I don’t think…I don’t think I can ever be the person I was before this. This is just _life_. And I’m not always depressed or anxious anymore; I have ordinary mom guilt and worries, but most days I am staggeringly fine and I don’t think it’s entirely the result of my medication. I think it’s just…me. It’s me getting to have you and Kate and Henry. And a lot of other people. And work and other things. So if there are going to be struggles, if depression is always going to exist in the sidelines of my life, then at least – at least I have the people and things that I have. I’m grateful for that. And I just want you to know that I _am_ happy. And sometimes I’m also sad. But I don’t want you to think any of the malaise has to do with you, or anything you’re doing or not doing. And I don’t want the kids to think that either.”  
  
“I don’t think that,” Mark quickly answers. “Neither do the kids. And just so you know…you’ve kept your own head above water, Addison. I know we’ve beaten this analogy to death, but when you said back in March that the medication was a floatie and I was a floatie, that was initially true and maybe that’s still true in some ways, but it’s also _you_. Maybe some days it’s easier to tread water and maybe other days you have to use every muscle in your body to not sink, but it’s not just me and it’s not just Zoloft. You’re really, really fucking strong, you know. I _hope_ you know that, at least.”  
  
She does know that. But the thing Mark just said is kind and sweet and the love he has for her and shares with her never ceases to amaze her. So Addison nods in response and then cries messily on his shoulder because these are, in fact, Big Feelings.  
  
“Sorry,” Addison says when she pulls back a few minutes later. She offers Mark a sheepish grin. “I think I…sprayed snot all over you.”  
  
“It’s okay. I’ve had grosser things happen. That time when Kate was a few weeks old and spit up in my mouth, for instance. I feel like that was in some ways the day I officially _became_ a parent, actually.”  
  
Addison laughs under her breath. She felt the same way about the first diaper blowout she had to deal with. “Thank you. For listening. For encouraging me to share. For not letting go of the water analogy. And for reminding me I’m a bad bitch. All of it. But…Mark?” Addison knows he knows, but she needs to tell him anyway. Or tell him again. Because it matters. She smooths her palms along his chest. “I’m happy. Not always, not all the time. But I just…I want you to know that I’m _happy_. And right now, in this moment, you make me feel incredibly happy.”  
  
Mark smiles, cupping her face in his hands. He kisses her softly while lights glow all around them. “You make me happy too, Red,” he whispers.


	57. The Anchor That Holds Me

**Chapter 57. The Anchor That Holds Me**  
  
The littlest Sloan turns a year old near the end of January. Mark and Addison throw a party for Henry and, like Kate’s first birthday, keep it small and simple. This time though, it is as much a celebration of Henry as it is a celebration that they clawed their way through a tough year, and would not have been able to do so without the support of their family and closest friends.   
  
Henry gets a “smash cake” primarily for the cute factor (it has to be clarified multiple times that _yes, there are cookies and cupcakes for everyone else, just relax_ ). Mark and Addison know their son loves his stuffed teddy bear (Teddy), so they opt for a small, single-layered cake with a polar bear face. Henry stops fussing with the felt crown on his head as soon as Mark places the cake in front of him. He goes slowly at first, just tentatively pinching at the frosting, but becomes more ambitious once he discovers how good it tastes. Henry and his high-chair both get very messy, very quickly. Frosting and cake crumbs adorn Henry’s mouth, chin, the tip of his nose, and somehow almost all of his arms.  
  
Henry peeks up when he hears a swell of noise, a bit unsure about the collection of people cooing and staring at him. But then his eyes find _Mama_. He smiles sweetly at Addison while experimentally squeezing more cake in one of his chubby fists.   
  
Addison smiles back so widely she can feel an ache blossoming in her cheeks. It is hard to imagine there was a period of time when this little boy wasn’t her whole world.   
  
\------  
  
“Night, little man.” Mark bends down to peck his son on the forehead. “Happy birthday. Hey…” he chuckles when Henry’s eyebrows furrow and his lips pout to reveal his utter discontent that Addison has stopped rocking for a moment so Mark can say goodnight. “Wow, that’s a dirty look. Where’d you learn that one?”  
  
“From his sister when she’s told she isn’t allowed to leave the table until she finishes her vegetables. Or anytime she’s told ‘no,’ actually,” Addison replies with a closed-mouthed smile. “That’s my guess, at least.” She pushes off her toes again to resume rocking Henry. Her son blinks up at her with heavy eyes. “Can you look at that really quick?” Addison lifts her chin towards the changing table, where she has left her phone. “I saw it light up a minute ago. I’m guessing it’s my mom.”  
  
“Sure. Let’s see…” Mark steps over to check. “Yep. It’s from her. She says she had a great time with us this weekend. And she just got to Logan and her friend has picked her up. Do you want me to text anything back?”  
  
“No, it’s okay. Henry won’t be awake much longer, so I’ll just respond once he’s down.” Addison’s lips twitch to the side, which Mark knows means that she is deeply contemplating something. “I wonder if…should I have asked my mom what _kind_ of friend this is that she’s visiting in Beacon Hill? And if this is a male companion or a female companion? Also…” she peers down at her son. “Apparently today is my birthday too and I turned one-hundred years old, because I don’t think people actually say the word _companion_ anymore.”  
  
Mark grins weakly. “Hopefully your mom’s companion-friend is just someone still legally allowed to drive at night.”  
  
“True,” Addison murmurs. “Today was such a good day. And this was a good weekend. Anyway. I’m sure he’ll pass out soon, so I’ll be down in a few…”  
  
Mark nods and takes this as his cue to leave. It’s funny – after everything they have been through together, after everything they have shared – they _still_ feel too self-conscious to sing in front of one another. It is this way when it comes to singing their babies to sleep, at least.   
  
Kate heard a lot Beatles songs from Addison. She also whisper-sang some Tom Petty, Fleetwood Mac, and whatever else she could pull from the recesses of her brain during colicky meltdowns. And for something more modern, Taylor Swift.   
  
What Henry hears while Addison is rocking him to sleep is more limited. Throughout the summer, it was the occasional Beatles tune or a pitchy version of “Somewhere Over the Rainbow.” It _could_ be argued it is a limited catalog because Henry falls asleep easily and is fine with instrumental lullabies pulled from Spotify. (And also limited because Depeche Mode has been banned. “Personal Jesus” made Henry wiggle his whole body and laugh hysterically whenever Addison would deepen her voice to say, “reach out and touch faith,” but it for damn sure did not make him sleepier.)  
  
But realistically, it’s a limited catalog because Addison likes to sing “You Are My Sunshine” to Henry. Not the entirety of the song – just the part everyone knows. Over and over and over. Luckily, Henry is a fan. It puts him to sleep when he is cuddled in his mother’s arms, when he hears that he makes his mother happy, when he hears that he will never know how much his mother loves him.   
  
\------  
  
Mark isn’t quite sure how he got frosting on the back of his neck, but he did, so he hops into the shower after saying goodnight to the little boy who is absolutely the reason why his neck and back now smell like vanilla.  
  
“Hey…” Addison pokes her head into the shower not longer after the water has started rushing over him. “Are you almost done?”  
  
“Yes, but I don’t have to be…” and then Mark’s suggestive smirk fades when he notices her expression, the jerky movements of her fingers twisting around one another. “Hey…” he lowers his voice. “I’ll be right out. Go put something comfy on and lie down. I’ll be there in a sec, okay?”  
  
“Sorry about that. I didn’t mean to rush you,” Addison pipes up from beneath the comforter when Mark makes his way over to her after throwing on a shirt and sweats. “Or…” she manages to give him a weak smile. “Or give you the impression I’d be joining you. I should have waited, but I just…I just really needed this.”  
  
“Don’t be sorry.” Mark knows what _this_ is, of course. He slides into bed and holds an arm out for her. Addison shifts over immediately, lining her body against his and resting her head on his chest. “I’ve got you. What’s going on?” His arms scoop around her, one framing the crest of her hip and the other stroking her back, offering comfort.  
  
“I’m okay. It was…I know I said it already, but it was a good day. A good day and a really good weekend. And…an emotional one too, I guess. This past year with Henry, this past year in general…” she pauses to gather her thoughts. It takes a moment. “I really am okay. I’m just, you know. Feeling some feelings. Big Feelings for my sweet boy. And we talked about it before, but Henry’s birthday is still a significant milestone, so I just…I just wanted you to know I’m still planning to stay on my medication for now.”  
  
“I know. And that’s fine. All that matters is that you feel good.”  
  
Addison’s fingers grasp at one of his shoulders. “I know…I know it wasn’t the easiest year for you either though.”  
  
“I’m okay, Red. I promise.”  
  
“Okay. And I’m okay too, Mark. I’m happy. And I feel good and I’m relaxed. But being those things all at once is making me have some feelings, so I thought I might start crying and I didn’t want…I wanted you to be _with_ me rather than trying to get frosting off your back – a truly remarkable feat, by the way. So, anyway. As usual…” Addison’s tone shifts to include some humor. “It’s all about me.”  
  
“I’m glad you came and told me,” Mark says gently. “And now that I’m here, I’m just going to keep hugging you and rubbing your non-frosting back. Just tell me if you need anything else.”  
  
She adjusts her cheek on his chest, lips warming his skin through the cotton of his shirt. “Just this.”  
  
Mark eventually feels her grow heavier in his embrace, and can sense the shift in her breathing as slumber begins to overtake her. “Doing okay?” he asks, poking hesitantly at her shoulder. He hates to startle her when her mind has finally reached enough peace to welcome in sleep, but he wants to make sure she feels settled before he lets himself close his eyes.  
  
“Yeah…” Addison mumbles when he quietly repeats the question. Her voice is slurry with fatigue as she speaks. “Better. I was just thinking – or dreaming, I’m not sure which – that I love all three of you and you’re equally important to me. And I’m sure you and Kate are each a word or a description that I can’t think of at the moment, because you _all_ make me happy, but Henry is just…he’s my sunshine boy. He’s my sunshine.”  
  
Mark smiles and touches his lips to her hairline as she starts to fall back to sleep, warm and safe in his arms. “Henry’s your sunshine,” he repeats quietly.   
  
\------  
  
Addison missed out on a lot of the _early days_ with Henry. It is hard to honestly remember anything other than feeling equal parts sad and numb. She tracks the milestones carefully now. She knows it is because of some residual guilt, but mostly it is because she loves her son and is so proud of him.   
  
Henry takes his first independent steps that April in Cape Cod. There are plenty of falls as he tries to make his way through the sand, but he laughs and laughs each time he finds himself sprawled on his belly.   
  
He is clapping, pointing to some of his body parts when prompted, and turning pages in books by early June.   
  
_Mama, Dada, hi,_ and _bye_ are uttered before Henry’s first birthday. And then an explosion of language comes that spring with new words: _moon, no, ball, uh-oh, duck, baba_ (bottle), and _Tate_.   
  
“I knew that was going to come back to haunt us,” Addison tells Mark once Henry has started to say his sister’s name in the closest way he knows how. _Tate-Tate-Tate_ all the time because Henry adores his big sister.   
  
“What was?”  
  
Addison scowls at him. “Tate.”  
  
“Why would…? Oh. _Oh_.”  
  
“Yeah. That damn CPR doll.”  
  
\------  
  
Addison tracks her _own_ progress as well. Not day-by-day, but each month it does cross her mind how long she has been on Zoloft. She hits fifteen months that June, and with the support of her psychiatrist, therapist, Mark, and her closest friends, she weans off the medication. It isn’t particularly easy. Even with slow-paced reductions, the withdrawal symptoms are brutal at first, and it takes about six weeks before she swallows half of a pill for the final time.   
  
Her mental health doesn’t waver after that. Yes, like any person, she experiences her share of obstacles, anxiety, situational sadness, and Big Feelings. She is still _here_ though. It all might have crumbled down once, but it has been rebuilt, even if little repairs need to be made now and again. There are some days where Addison thinks she honestly _could_ benefit from an SSRI, but it is just days and moments, nothing consistent or persistent. She continues to check in with her therapist, usually every few months, but more often if she thinks she needs to. Whenever guilt creeps in, she reminds herself that she feels the things she feels – and has felt the things she has felt – because she is human. Her heart beats and her blood travels and air moves in and out of her lungs. All of this because she is real. And mental illnesses and struggles are as real as any other kind of ailment.  
  
Addison never feels anything like That again, but she will always remember the pain. It was a dark, isolating time, especially before she got help. And asking for help is astonishingly difficult. So is getting better again.   
  
Repair has to happen one step at a time.  
  
Postpartum depression has changed her in many ways. In hindsight, if she could have selected a button to _not_ have struggled with depression, then of course that would have been her choice. She would have smashed that button like Thor bringing down his hammer. But not all the ways in which Addison has changed are bad, because there is always a little light scattered throughout the dark. She is gentler with herself now. She has learned to take better care of herself. She loves deeper, somehow. She asks for help when she needs it, and when she _thinks_ she might need it. She has realized the depths of her resilience. And although she has always been a kind, compassionate doctor (highly skilled goes without saying), when patients with babies talk to her about their struggles now, she holds their hands a little tighter, and when she assures them help is available and that she _understands_ , the look of empathy blazing in her eyes reflects it.   
  
“You’ll get there. It’s ugly and it isn’t easy. There are lots of forward and backward steps, but you’re going to be well again one day,” Addison has told more than one mother as she walks them through what to do next. She tells them this while taking her medication. She tells them this while tapering off her medication. And she continues to tell them this long after Zoloft stops having anything to do with her neurons. “And if bonding is tough right now, if you aren’t sure what you’re feeling or think maybe you’re not feeling enough, I promise you that it will not always be this way. One day you’ll look at your baby and wonder how it’s even _possible_ to love someone this much. There will come a day when your baby is just completely and utterly the sunshine in your world.”  
  
\------  
  
The song follows Henry, even after Addison stops rocking and singing him to sleep. He has never been able to pinpoint when he learned the lyrics to “You Are My Sunshine,” so in a way, it is like this song has always been a part of him, especially for more meaningful moments.   
  
It is one of the first songs he learns to play on the guitar when he is arguably barely even big enough to hold a guitar (he’s athletic like his father and has his mother’s aptitude for math, but no one is quite sure where the musical talent came from).   
  
When his sister suffers her first heartbreak, he gives her a drawing with “you make me happy when skies are gray” written above a picture of the two of them. Like most of Henry’s drawings as a little boy, a bright yellow sun is colored aggressively hard in the upper left corner. He is surprised to find out years later that Kate still has this childish drawing. She even brings it to college with her, tucked between the pages of one of her favorite books.   
  
Henry plays the song for his parents on their fifteen anniversary and, because his father is Mark Sloan, he makes up a few funny verses to include.   
  
When he is in high school, the song is stuck in his head for some reason when he steps up to the plate during a playoff game. He gets his bat around punishingly hard on a curveball to drive in the winning run.  
  
He hears it while finishing up his medical board exams, too.  
  
And at Henry’s wedding reception, he and Addison dance to a shortened version of the song during their mother-son dance.  
  
\------  
  
“Does my voice sound hoarse?” Addison asks as they walk down to the beach, towels tucked under their arms. Sunset is quickly approaching, but enough threads of sunlight are still visible to flash against the water, warming the waves that sparkle in the distance. They love taking a dip in the ocean at this time of day; the stretch of private beach they share with their other neighbors is a bit more secluded at this hour.   
  
“Yeah, kind of,” Mark answers. “God, what did I do to you?”  
  
“You know exactly what you did to me. More than once,” she says, which makes Mark chuckle. Her stamina never ceases to amaze him, but truthfully, he would not have been surprised this time around if he had to carry her down to the water. They have been pretty busy with one another the past few days.  
  
“Didn’t hear you complaining. I heard you being very _loud_ , yes, but complaining, no. Hey…” Mark nudges her shoulder. “Happy pretend anniversary. Today is actually the eighth of the month, you know.”   
  
It is just the two of them in Cape Cod at the moment. In August, not December – hence “pretend.” That had been Addison’s idea though. They didn’t get to go to the Cape much last summer, and she wanted to have a few days that was just _them_ , but one where they could celebrate in a way that involves swimming and summer sunshine, rather than a whiteout-fueled December. Savvy told Addison it was the dumbest thing she’d ever heard of to put a specific name to a few days of vacation and also some very uninspired role play if that was what her friend was going for, but _yes_ , she and Weiss would happily watch Kate and Henry for them.  
  
“Happy pretend seven years.” Addison nudges him back. “No wool joke?”  
  
“The seven year anniversary is a huge disappointment in that I can’t come up with a pun or a stupid joke for _wool_. I have a few more months to work on it though, at least. What I _can_ make a joke about though -”  
  
“Here it comes…”  
  
“- is that the only seven year _itch_ we’re going to have is related to all this friction.”  
  
“Yeah. Sounds about right.”  
  
\------  
  
Mark and Addison make unintelligible noises to convey discomfort when sea foam initially hisses over their ankles. They are used to the water here, but it still takes some getting _used_ to and nothing can really prevent the initial throbbing sensation of sand-dusted feet meeting the Atlantic, even when it is one of the warmest months of the year. The ground beneath them shifts into a seashell-brushed slant the further they go, making their steps sluggish and their arms awkwardly windmill. They both know what they’re doing though, and dive neatly under a wave before it breaks against their hips with a hard slap.  
  
They kick around to face each other as soon as they both surface, a little breathless. Addison tips her head away from the shore and then churns water behind her as she paddles further out. “Just a bit deeper,” she calls over her shoulder. Addison is a strong and deceivingly fast swimmer, but mostly she is just the _boss_ , so of course Mark follows her lead. And she does always find good spots; he’ll give her that.   
  
“A bit deeper,” Mark echoes. “I’m sure I’ve heard that one before.” He catches up to her with a few strokes to join her at a relatively calm interval. Their feet are still touching the sea floor, but each time the water rises, they rise with it, bobbing up and down like buoys. Mark moves an arm behind her and presses his palm to the small of her back, urging her closer.   
  
“I’m not having sex with you in the ocean.”   
  
Mark starts to laugh. “I didn’t ask you to. Even I have some limits, Red. But…” he grins when Addison loops her arms around his neck. “We _are_ gonna have sex again once we’re back at the house though, right?” His wife looks incredible at the moment in a white bikini with a triangular top. On their walk down to the shoreline, Mark had to resist the urge to put his hands all over her and drag her back into the house with him. It is honestly one of the sexiest things he has ever seen Addison wear, but she has reminded him (more than once) that this is _just_ for him and is not going to be part of her “regular” swimsuit lineup. Not with a son who makes everything he touches a mess and a daughter who has started to share some of her thoughts on Addison’s outfit choices – and they aren’t always compliments.  
  
“Absolutely.”  
  
“Glad to hear it. And you look beautiful, by the way,” Mark adds when she gazes up at him through water-soaked eyelashes. He dips his head, capturing her lips with his mid-smile and mid-giggle. It is not about the bikini though. “Really. Really. Beautiful,” he repeats between drawn-out kisses, water lining their throats as it cuts through them. Her eyes match the ocean today. A few days’ worth of sunshine has bronzed her nose and cheekbones. Her hair, slicked back and shaded a rich mahogany from wetness, hangs in thick ropes, the ends splitting gracefully at the water’s surface. Mark uses his thumb to ease away a strip of hair clinging to the square of her jawline, watching Addison’s smile lengthen at the gesture. She has been floating without any medication for about two weeks now. “And happy. You look happy, Addison.”   
  
“I am happy.”  
  
Addison latches on to him then, sliding her hands down his shoulders and wrapping her legs around his waist. She can feel the firm movement of Mark’s hips and legs rotating beneath her, supporting them both as he buries his nose in the curve of her neck. The floral scented perfume that lingers on her pulse points has been replaced by streaks of saltwater and Coppertone. His lips touch her cool skin, picking up flecks of salt. She’s happy.   
  
“You’re making me do all the work, you know,” he jokes.   
  
“Consider it an ego boost for your oh-so-powerful thighs keeping us both above water. And just…only for a sec,” Addison’s voice softens like velvet at the end. She doesn’t want to let go quite yet. “I’m happy,” she says again, for herself as much as it is for him. She feels so happy that her throat prickles with emotion and her vision goes cloudy behind a wall of tears. She sniffles a bit while nuzzling Mark’s cheek with hers, different kinds of saltwater anchored between them. “Mark, I’m _happy_. And I love you. I’m so, so in love with you.”  
  
Mark kisses her again, feeling the tremor pass through both their chins due to coldness, and from what else they’re feeling above and beyond water sluicing around them. “I love you, too,” he murmurs against her sea-coated mouth. “More than anything. And I’m really happy that you’re happy, Addison.”  
  
“Me too. You wanna go back to shore?” She asks, letting her legs glide away from his waist. “You can get this bikini off me as soon as we’re inside, if you want, and we can keep making each other happy…”  
  
“Oh, I most definitely do want to do that. Bedroom?”  
  
“Yes, but…” Addison presses her lips to his, just a quick kiss this time. “I’m freezing, so take a hard right once we get in the bedroom. Shower…let’s take a happy shower-shower.” Mark grins when she says this. Of course he remembers another one of their ridiculous jokes.  
  
“Shower-shower it is,” he answers as they start to paddle their way back to shore, side-by-side. They have to work at it a bit, but the sea carries them in most of the way.  
  
\------


	58. So Gently Now

**Chapter 58. So Gently Now**  
  
“Henry…” Kate maintains some distance as she walks around the backyard, knowing it will only be a matter of seconds before her little brother slams his dinosaur-patterned rain boots into a puddle as hard as he can. It isn’t raining at the moment, so _maybe_ instead of putting her umbrella aside she can use it as a shield like Wonder Woman, but she suspects her dad will tell her she’s going to poke someone’s eye out if she holds it like that. Kate wants to jump in puddles too, but she just doesn’t really want Henry splattering mud and water all over her. The goal is always to get _Mom_ and _Dad_ wet, not each other, but Henry doesn’t really understand this yet. “What animal is on my umbrella?” Kate asks when Henry peeks up at her. She shows him the animal face carved on the wooden handle.  
  
“Fa-lingo!” Henry calls out brightly.  
  
“Yeah…” Kate glances at her father and smirks. “A flamingo.” She sounds the word out slowly, but does not correct Henry’s pronunciation. Mark nods appreciatively; it took a while for Kate to understand how to _nicely_ handle toddler word flubs.   
  
Mark accepts the umbrella his daughter gives him to hold on to, and then he edges closer to where the kids are playing. Admittedly, jumping in puddles – or, more accurately in his case, just enduring the activity – is not his favorite thing (and definitely not Addison’s). However, it’s the end of a long week, which basically means trying to run out the clock until Addison gets home. And the current activity doesn’t involve much besides dampened pants since Kate _wants_ to play with her brother (most days she still does, thankfully, but she certainly has her moments now). Two years with two kids stills feels like a delightful concept for Mark and Addison. They might have to spread themselves thinner to meet the needs of both kids, but Kate and Henry also have each other for company.   
  
Their daughter will be eight years old next week. She _looks_ older now. Babyish physical attributes are starting to fade in favor of sharper cheekbones and a leaner face. Those tiny pearl teeth nestled in her mouth and the temporary “windows” (the toothless spaces) that followed are continuing to make way for adult teeth that, while lovely and form a smile so much like her father’s, lack the innocence of her treasure’s worth of baby teeth. And Kate _acts_ older now, too. To Mark, it feels like everything is split into _less_ and _more_. Kate requires less supervision and less napkins. There is less resistance to eating vegetables, less desire to be tucked into bed at night, and less inclination to stop on walks through Central Park to examine every loose rock and piece of trash (they still have Henry for this though). Kate is also more independent, more focused, more inclined to say _Mom_ or _Dad_ , more skilled at fielding ground balls (baseball at the moment, but most likely softball next spring), and more knowledgeable about the concept that some words have more than one meaning (she understands more of Mark’s awful jokes and puns now, much to his amusement and Addison’s annoyance). There are now more chapter books, more sleepovers, more power struggles, more of an interest in the world around her, and more thoughts and complex feelings.  
  
“Dad?” Kate asks. “What book do you think I should read next: _Black Beauty_ or _A Little Princess_?”   
  
“Oh…” Mark gives this some consideration. “Um. _Black Beauty_.”  
  
“I’m gonna ask Mom what she thinks, too,” Kate answers. “Maybe tonight I’ll read the first chapter of one with her, and then tomorrow night read the other one, and see which one I like best.”  
  
“Are you feeling okay?” Mark dramatically rests the back of his palm on Kate’s forehead, which makes her laugh. “You don’t want to read by yourself?”   
  
“I sometimes still want Mom to read to me. And you, too. I like when you read out loud baseball scores to me.” Kate offers him a sweet smile. Both things are true. And another truth is that both books she is mulling over are big and she suspects she won’t know all the words.   
  
Mark grins back at his daughter. Kate might be growing up, but she isn’t growing _away_ just yet.  
  
\------  
  
When Addison arrives home, the first thing she does is slip off her clogs. She can’t think of a time she has ever worn clogs outside of a surgical wing. Or come home in scrubs (clean ones), instead of the outfit she was wearing this morning, for that matter. She feels a bit ridiculous when she puts on a pair of black Hunters that clash horribly with her salmon scrubs, but it’s the right call, because she knows what she’s about to walk into.   
  
She thinks her tolerance for messiness has been one of the biggest adjustments she has made since becoming a parent. Because there is always, _always_ a mess. They cannot get through one day without a spill or a stain. Paint, crayons, markers, and glue do not always stay on paper. Addison is constantly sweeping up crumbs. She and Mark have stepped on so many damn Legos. Her daughter still sucks at not destroying the bathroom sink while brushing her teeth. And a half-eaten lollipop was found under a couch cushion last week (“I didn’t do it” apparently did this). But the necessary adjustment to messiness has mostly been tolerable, because honestly, how could Addison _not_ accept and participate in some of the messes? Kate sometimes picks flowers for her, thrusting them towards Addison with dirt-brushed fingers, clumps of soil still hanging off the roots. Henry always wants her to get down on the ground to “play cars” with him in the backyard. _A happy mess_ , Kate once told her when they came inside with dirt caking their knees. Addison agrees most of the time. And speaking of messes: they have tentative plans to go camping over the summer with Derek, Meredith, and Bailey. Addison wants no part of camping, but knows she will have to suck it up and go.   
  
Henry hears her first when she pushes open the fingerprint-smeared glass doors that lead to the backyard. The smile that forms on his face makes the really long day she had completely worth it if it means coming home to him. To _this_.   
  
“Mommy!” Henry shrieks. Addison kneels down in anticipation of what can only be described as a tackle-hug. Her son happily anchors his arms around her neck. His cheek nuzzles against her collarbone, part affection, Addison is certain, but also so that Henry can wipe off a glob of mud clinging to his face.  
  
“Hi, Hennybug. I missed your sweet face today.” Addison sits back on her heels. It _is_ a sweet face, even when it’s dirtied with half-dried mud and water. She traces her thumb along the curve of his jaw, outlines one of his rounded cheeks. He is pure sunshine, and he is a beautiful boy. The smile that rises from his Cupid’s bow lips is heart-melting, and Henry shares it with almost everyone, even when he is feeling shy. He has expressive, big blue eyes and although it’s silly for Addison – who is very much a grown woman – to be envious about the length and thickness of her toddler’s dusky eyelashes, she definitely is. Henry’s hair is still silky-soft to the touch and there are wispy curls at the nape of his neck that Addison knows won’t last forever. But for now, she treasures his little features. She wasn’t sure what it would “be like” with the age gap between her kids equaling six years for the majority of each calendar year, but she really, really likes that while Kate is phasing out of a lot of cute “little kid” features and traits, Henry is still easing into them.   
  
“Mommy,” Henry says when she stands back up, his voice excited and chipmunk-pitched. “Rain. Play rain.”  
  
“Yes, little one. Mommy is going to play with you and Kate and Daddy. Speaking of…” Addison says when Kate approaches to give her a quick, mostly one-armed hug. “Hey, you.”  
  
Kate’s brows furrow together after she returns her mother’s greeting. “Why are you wearing scrubs?”  
  
“Because I figured this is _exactly_ where you guys would be playing when I got home,” Addison answers with a grin, opting not to add the bit about Mark texting her a picture of Kate and Henry in the backyard. Better to let her kids think she is all-powerful and all-knowing. “And this way I can play with you without getting any of my nice clothes all wet and muddy. I had a coat on today, but…I also wore a silk blouse.”  
  
Kate nods in understanding. “And silk can get water marks.”  
  
“You’ve taught her well,” Mark says to Addison. He smiles at his wife while Henry takes his hand, tugging him in the direction of a puddle before he can say hello to his wife. He’ll just have to settle for a hug and kiss later.  
  
\------  
  
They spend a nice Saturday in May at Carolyn Shepherd’s house. Derek, Meredith, and Bailey – now nineteen months – are passing through on their way to Meredith’s alma mater for something-or-other, and Liz and her brood are there this weekend as well. These types of get-togethers are rare but always enjoyed, so it is not _too_ much effort for Mark and Addison to make their way up to Albany, even though neither Sloan child was happy to be leaving the house at seven in the morning. They certainly turned their attitudes around though as soon as they arrived at Derek’s childhood home.  
  
“Addie, I have to tell you something…” Derek comes into the kitchen where Addison is cleaning off a few plates. The laughter and squeals of the kids in the backyard pipes through an open window.   
  
She offers a hopeful smile. “You decided you _don’t_ want to go camping this August? Man, I’m so sad.”  
  
“Sorry to disappoint you,” Derek laughs. “But no.” He spots Mark over Addison’s shoulder, and gestures for him to leave his conversation with Liz and Carolyn, and come over. “So before the kids went out to the backyard to play, Kate grabbed one of Mom’s photo albums off the bookshelf and was looking in it. And I guess there were a few leftover pictures from our wedding – as in, you know, when you and I got married. I think my mom has most of them stored in a rarely-opened drawer somewhere because it felt too weird for her to throw them out –”  
  
“Or to just cut me out of all of them?” Addison grins weakly.  
  
“You know she’d never do that. But anyway, I guess Kate saw a few. She didn’t say much other than commenting that she liked the color of my boutonniere. And then Liz’s kids went outside to kick the soccer ball and she went with them. Anyway. Sorry. Hopefully it wasn’t weird for her.”  
  
Addison shakes her head. “It’s okay. It’s no one’s fault. Well, maybe _Kate’s_ for being nosy, but still. It’s okay. She knows we used to be married and that we’re still friends. I’ll bring it up with her later to check in, but seriously, don’t worry about it. She would have come and gotten us if she was upset. The only thing she’ll _probably_ be upset about today is when we tell her it’s time to go home.”  
  
She brought up the subject of her first marriage about two years ago with Kate. Her daughter had a few questions at the time, and has asked the occasional question since the initial conversation, but has never expressed any alarm or dismay. Mostly, it was just something _interesting_ to her, but really only interesting for a few hours. Addison was always waiting for, well, an _organic_ moment to tell Kate about her first marriage (save the more sordid details, at least while Kate is so young), and finally one arrived when she was walking Kate home from school one day. Her daughter told her the parents of a boy in her class were getting a divorce, so Addison calmly segued into, “You know, Kate, I was actually married to someone before your dad…” and they went from there. It was mostly uneventful. But it _was_ kind of hysterical when they got home and Kate scrambled into the house to tell her father, as though this would be brand new information for him: “ _Daddy_. Did you know that Mommy used to be _married_ to _Derek_? I bet you didn’t know that.”  
  
Mark smiled and assured her that he knew.  
  
\------  
  
“Hey, Kate?” Addison waits until her daughter glances up from one of the _Magic Tree House_ books she is reading on their way home that afternoon. Kate blinks and her blue eyes meet Addison’s in the rear-view mirror. “I heard from Derek that you saw some pictures today in one of Nana Carolyn’s photo albums.”  
  
Kate nods. “Yeah. I saw some from when you got married to Derek. Dad was in some pictures, too. And you used to have _bangs_ , mom,” she adds.  
  
“I did have bangs for a little bit. Do you think I should get bangs again?” She asks. _No, definitely not_. But she might as well ease into this conversation.  
  
“No, don’t. I like you better without them.”  
  
“Okay.” Addison smirks. She agrees. “Just thought I’d ask. So…” she twists around to look at her daughter. “I know we’ve talked about it before – me being married to Derek at one point, I mean – but I’m sure it was a bit weird to see pictures like that. So if you have any questions you want to ask, that’s totally fine. I just want you to know that it’s different for me and your dad. We love each other very, very much -”  
  
“I know.” Kate makes a face. “You make goo-goo eyes at each other and it’s kind of gross.”  
  
“That’s probably true,” Mark says with a light laugh. “But we’re not ever going to get divorced. And like your mom said, if you have any questions or worries, you can talk to us, okay?”  
  
Kate’s expression is thoughtful when she turns to gaze out the window. “I like that you guys are still friends with Derek,” she says. “And that you like Meredith. You know Asher in my class?”  
  
“ _Do_ I…” Mark mutters under his breath. He’s never quite moved past the incident when Asher Hammond pulled his daughter’s hair.  
  
“His parents are divorced and they don’t even really talk to each other. And Asher said his mom doesn’t like his step-mom.”  
  
Addison nods while shifting back around. “Yeah, that happens sometimes, and it’s really sad when it does.”  
  
“Mom, was it weird when you and Dad got married that I was up there with you guys the whole time?” Kate asks. This is far from the first time she has asked this. But she _loves_ asking, because she loves hearing about this day and looking at the pictures, even though she can’t remember any of it.   
  
“Not weird at all,” Addison replies. She might as well be reading off a script, but secretly she adores when Kate asks her this question or wants to talk about their wedding. “That was our favorite part because we were so happy you could be there for our special day. And our favorite picture from that day is the one where we were pronounced ‘husband and wife,’ and you’re sitting by my feet holding Maggie and you have rose petals all over you. We love that one so much that we have it in more than once place…” she raises her eyes to the rear-view mirror again, amused when she can see Kate, still looking out the window, mouthing the various locations. “In the living room, the bigger one on the wall going up the stairs, in our bedroom, and in the hallway near yours and Henry’s rooms.”  
  
“I bet that was my favorite part of the day too,” Kate replies sweetly. “Oh, and Mom? You and Dad actually _might_ have to get a divorce one day.” She starts to smile, excited about sharing this next bit. “Henry keeps saying he’s going to marry you…and I keep telling him he isn’t _allowed_ to do that, but he doesn’t get it.”  
  
Addison laughs. “That’s a normal thing at his age. Lots of toddlers want to marry their mommies or daddies.”  
  
“It’s weird.”  
  
“Well…” Mark says reasonably. “Lots of things about toddlers are kind of weird. Speaking of – what’s your brother singing back there?”   
  
Kate turns to look at Henry. “What are you singing, Hen-Hen?” She asks. Her brother usually falls asleep during car rides, but at the moment he is poking at a Dimpl toy and singing softly. Very softly. Kate is surprised her dad was even able to hear it. Henry doesn’t answer her though. He just keeps singing, so Kate listens carefully, trying to determine if it’s an actual song or some made-up toddler silliness.  
  
“Deee. Horse. Deee. Horse. Deee. Horse.”  
  
“Oh.” Kate starts to giggle. “He’s saying it wrong, but he’s making up a song about divorce.”  
  
Addison rolls her eyes. “Perfect.”   
  
\------  
  
“Hey, kiddo.” Mark lightly knocks on Kate’s open door. She’s sitting cross-legged on her bed, nose buried in a book. “Henry’s asleep now.”  
  
Kate looks surprised, maybe even a touch impressed. “Whoa. He’s already asleep?”  
  
“Yeah.” Mark grins. Both he and Kate assumed bedtime might be a bit of a challenge tonight. A fun day with the Shepherds and a mostly tolerable car ride home with two kids took an unexpected turn when Addison was paged for an it-can’t-be-anyone-else-it-has-to-be-you emergency. And Henry has a tough time with minor deviations in his bedtime routine, especially when his mom isn’t home to give him a goodnight kiss and cuddle with him. “I’m sure it helped that he was tired from a busy day. I only got through half of _Giraffes Can’t Dance_ before he fell asleep. So apparently the little guy is able to fall asleep without his mom.”   
  
“I think you mean his _wife_.” Kate smirks, and Mark laughs. She’s bitingly funny sometimes. “Did Mom text you yet?” She asks. Her bedtime is ten on Saturdays, so she will likely get to see her mom before it’s lights out.   
  
Mark shakes his head. “Nope, not yet. She must still be in surgery. Or got called into something else.” He shifts off the door frame he’s been leaning against to come into Kate’s room. They redid it last month – that was what Kate wanted for her eighth birthday (well, and a dog). Gone are the teal and purple walls, two-tone curtains, and unicorn comforter. They painted the walls a bluish-gray (or specifically, a color called “Willow Breeze,” which makes no sense to any of them), ordered her new bedding, and just did little touches here and there decoration-wise to make it look more like the room of an eight year-old. “But…” Mark pauses for dramatic effect. “I’m sure she won’t mind if you stay up a bit later tonight so you can see her, but if it ends up being _really_ late, do you want to just leave a note for her to sign?”  
  
“It was weird that I used to do that, wasn’t it?”  
  
Mark smiles. “A _cute_ weird.”  
  
“Kind of like Henry wanting to marry Mom. A cute weird.”   
  
“Exactly. You know, Kate…you were kind of quiet when we were watching _Moana_ tonight.” Mark wasn’t quite sure earlier this evening if something was wrong, and he’s still not certain if she’s upset about something or if she’s coming down with a bug. She’s acting perfectly herself at the moment, displaying some of her defining characteristics, none of which Mark had as a child: warm, earnest, thoughtful. But his parenting instincts usually aren’t wrong.   
  
Kate raises her eyebrows at this observation. “You’re _supposed_ to be quiet while watching movies.”  
  
“Yeah, smarty pants, but…” he eases down on the edge of her bed, grateful that she’s still at an age where the idea of a parent making themselves comfortable in her room isn’t horrifying. Kate unfolds her legs and scoots over to sit next to him. “Normally you’d at least ‘shhhh’ your brother a few times, and you didn’t do that. And you also didn’t eat much pizza.”  
  
It takes a moment for Kate to find her voice. “My tummy hurt a little bit at dinnertime.”   
  
“Oh,” Mark says softly. _Tummy_ , not stomach. In some ways, she is still so little. And delicate. “I wish you’d told me. How’s your tummy now? Do you feel okay? Do you feel sick?”  
  
“I’m not sick.” Kate angles her head away, showing the same shyness that her mother shows when she’s about to cry. “I just didn’t…I didn’t…” she hiccups.   
  
“C’mere, Katiebee.” Mark wraps both arms around her and she sniffles into his chest. “Tell me what’s wrong.”  
  
“I didn’t like seeing those pictures of Mommy and Derek,” she says, words clipped between whimpers. “And I didn’t like seeing ones of you, since you weren’t going to marry Mommy that day. I liked Mommy’s dress and I liked the flower thing Derek was wearing on his jacket, but that’s _it_.”  
  
Mark hugs her tighter. “Have you been thinking about the pictures all day?”  
  
“No.” She rubs at her eyes, and then glances up at him, expression wary. “Just at dinner. And right now. I was…I was happy this morning and this afternoon. And now I’m just kind of…” her voice fades away and she offers a hapless shrug.   
  
“Sad? Worried?” Mark asks. His daughter just shrugs again. “I love your mom, Kate,” he adds when she doesn’t try to put a description to what she is feeling. “And she loves me. I promise you: we are not going to get a divorce.”   
  
“I know. That’s not why…” her shoulders rise up and down for a third time, and he can see the frustration building in her. She’s a bright girl, sailing through second grade at the moment. She knows the answers to most questions, and for ones she doesn’t know, she has the confidence to raise her hand and ask her teacher, or her parents. But, Mark supposes it’s pretty damn hard when you’re searching for an answer but also can’t figure out how to cobble together the question. Or even know what the question would be. “I don’t know,” Kate grumbles into his shoulder.   
  
“Okay. So you’re not sure. That’s alright.” Mark tries another way. “Are you maybe just…feeling some Big Feelings about seeing the pictures?” The phrase has stuck around with them. Kate thinks about this, and then nods. “Okay. That’s okay. You’ve known for a while that your mom used to be married to Derek, but it’s different to see pictures. That makes it more real for you. And it’s okay that you have feelings about this, but that you aren’t really sure what to name each of those feelings.”  
  
“Do you wish you married Mommy first?” Kate asks quietly. She leans back just a bit, no longer completely tangled in a hug, but one of her hands is still cupped in his, and she thinks of both _comfortable_ and _valuable_ , on yesterday’s spelling test. Hugs from her mom are gentle, like she could snuggle her forever. When her dad hugs her, when he shows affection, it’s stronger somehow, like it’s just the two of them in the entire world, and it’s one of the many things she likes about him. “Before Derek? Like…like Derek would be _okay_ , but you guys would have just traded places on the day Mommy and Derek got married. And you would have married Mommy instead.”  
  
“That’s a good question.” It’s not a surprising one, and Mark certainly had enough if-then thoughts before he and Addison were a couple to know his position on this subject. But he weighs his words carefully.   
  
“Are you going to answer?” Kate asks. It’s not said meanly, it’s not skeptical or accusatory. It’s just genuine curiosity. She touches the fingertips of her free hand to Mark’s forearm.   
  
“Yes,” Mark says. “I’m going to answer. I already know the answer, but I was thinking that I’d like to tell you something else first, and then I’ll answer. So, what I want you to know _first_ , before I give you my honest answer because you’re a big girl and I want you to know the truth, is that I’m glad I married your mom when I did. But to answer your question: no. If I could have traded places with Derek and married your mom _that_ day, then no, I wouldn’t have wanted to trade. I know that probably sounds weird to you and probably doesn’t help your tummy either, but the thing is that I’m glad I married your mom when I did. _Exactly_ when I did. I wouldn’t have wanted to trade places because that wasn’t the right time for me to marry her, or for your mom to marry me.”  
  
“Why?”  
  
“I was too young to get married. I know I’m the same age as your mom, but I wasn’t ready to be married then. I was kind of an idiot – ask your mom, she’ll tell you. And your mom and I liked each other as friends when she and Derek got married, but we didn’t love each other. That came later. But you know why I’m _mostly_ glad it took us a long time to fall in love and then get married?”  
  
“Why?”  
  
“Because we had you. And Henry. Maybe we would have had kids if we had gotten married like twenty years ago in the trading places world, but those kids wouldn’t have been you and Henry. I’m sure you wish that your mom only had one marriage and that I was the one to marry her before anyone else, but sometimes that’s just not how life works. And if life _had_ worked out that way, we wouldn’t have you and your brother. So I’m glad that when Derek married your mom, it was _him_ and not me. And I’m glad that Derek and your mom getting a divorce meant that Derek eventually married Meredith and they had Bailey. Derek wouldn’t have been able to marry Meredith back then.”  
  
“Because she would have been a little kid?”   
  
Mark chuckles. “No, she would have been a grownup…just a young grownup. But sometimes people fall in love exactly when they’re supposed to and not a second sooner. I think things that are meant to be usually happen, like me marrying your mom and Derek marrying Meredith, but sometimes things that are meant to be don’t happen right away. They happen later. Does that…does that make sense to you, Kate?”  
  
“Yeah. And I bet…” Kate smiles in contemplation. “I bet me and Drew will get married exactly when we’re supposed to.”  
  
Mark manages a small look of agreement when Kate glances at him, ready to get defensive if necessary. There was a brief reprieve at the end of Kindergarten, but it’s been this way for about a year now. And it’s puppy love, but a different kind of puppy love than it was for ages three through six. His daughter and Andrew don’t hold hands now. They play with separate friends at recess most of the time. They aren’t on the same Little League team this year. Kate’s best friend is Emily and Andrew’s best friend is Theo. And even when it’s just Kate and the twins, sometimes she and Emily are off doing one thing while Andrew is doing another. It’s different, but there is truth in the reality: Kate loves Andrew and Andrew loves Kate.   
  
“I know,” Mark answers quietly, trying not to be _that_ dad. “Just stay little for as long as you can though, okay? And buddy, there are going to be lots and lots of things in life – both as a kid and when you’re all grown up – that might not be super easy to talk about. And there will also be times, like today, where you aren’t really sure _what_ to say, or _what_ exact feeling you’re feeling, but you just know you’re having a lot of feelings and it’s not great. So when that happens, you need to try your best to tell me – or your mom, or both of us. I know I’m your Dad, so I’m a little biased, but you’re good at _everything_. Well, except for eating your vegetables,” he adds, and Kate giggles. “So I know you can be good at sharing Big Feelings, too. Okay?”   
  
“‘Kay.”   
  
“I can stay with you for a little bit.” He gestures to the book on her nightstand, _Charlotte’s Web_. “I can stay and read with you, if you want.”  
  
Kate smiles sheepishly. “I’m actually still a little hungry.”  
  
“Okay. How about more pizza and we watch some TV? I’m sure your mom will be home in a bit, too. You feeling a little better now?”  
  
“Yeah. I feel better now…just hungry for pizza. Hey, Dad?” She asks. “Have you read _Charlotte’s Web_ before?”  
  
Mark nods. “I have. It’s been a long, long time, but one of my teachers read it aloud to my class when I was around your age. I remember it though. Charlotte the spider, Wilbert the pig, Templeton the rat, the little farm girl named Fern -”  
  
Kate interrupts with a laugh so loud Mark worries she will wake her brother. “Daddy,” she says, shaking her head. “It’s Wil _bur_. Not Wil _bert_.”  
  
“Oh, come on. At least I was close. But…” he grins. “You’re going to tell your mom I said the pig’s name wrong, aren’t you?”  
  
“Yeah. And she’s gonna laugh, too.”   
  
\------


	59. Each Thread

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Penultimate chapter. Thank you so, so much for those of you who have been reading this (or re-reading, depending on your perspective :)). This story has always been my fic!baby (my very, very LONG and OLD fic!baby), but I am excited to revisit other fics and come up with new ones in the near future.

**Chapter 59. Each Thread**  
  
Summer passes quickly, calendar boxes X’d out by way of splash pads, long hours at work, a few weekends in Cape Cod, a miserable heatwave that feels like it lasts all of July, and too many popsicles for the kids (sometimes for breakfast, too). And they do in fact go camping – Addison pastes a fake smile on her face and hates nearly every minute of it.   
  
Then August humidity gives way to a more temperate, leaf-strewn September. Kate starts third grade, and Henry has a weekly toddler music class and some daycare. At two and-a-half, he is too little for preschool, but Mark and Addison (or Lauren) bring him to their hospital’s daycare for a few hours two mornings a week so that hopefully the eventual transition to preschool will be easier. It takes a few tries for Henry to leave his mother’s arms without crying, but eventually it _does_ happen, and Mark and Addison are pleased to discover that Henry gets along well with other children his age and does pretty well with sharing.  
  
And naturally, the subject of a dog continues to come up. Kate is relentless about it. Mark isn’t so much relentless as he is obnoxious – Addison is used to that though. And to Mark’s credit, he doesn’t bring it up _too_ often.   
  
“I gave you two children,” Addison chirps at him one night, a smile playing at her lips. She feels strongly about this point, but can also feel herself starting to soften about the possibility of getting a dog. “Isn’t that enough?”  
  
“Yes,” Mark answers quickly. “More than enough…but I don’t think Kate will see it that way. Or the little guy. He’s not old enough to be as – well, as argumentative as his sister – but he loves dogs, too.”  
  
“I had to be cut open for both those ungrateful children, you know.”  
  
“But Kate wasn’t…oh.” Mark glances down at the floor. He can only imagine the _wow are you stupid_ look his wife is giving him. “Right. Never mind.”  
  
“Good man, not commenting any further. Anyway. I’ve never really been a pet person,” Addison admits. “It’s just not a Montgomery thing…but it’s not like I hate dogs. I like _other_ people’s dogs. Ones I don’t have to take on walks, pick up after, get up early to feed and let outside, or leave alone all day – and yeah, I know Lauren and Henry are here during the day for the most part and that beyond that there are dog walkers and things. Lauren is probably on Team Dog anyway.”  
  
“Oh, she is. She’s just nice enough to not be pushy about it.”  
  
“Unlike the rest of you. I’m already raising two children. _Three_ , actually,” Addison decides, and Mark does not dispute this. He knows what he’s about. “You really want to add another to the mix?”  
  
“Well, child number four is one where Kate and I will handle all the walks and pooper-scooper stuff. And you watch…” he grins slowly. “The kids and I will do all the work, but the dog will still love you the most.”  
  
“Saying you’ll do all the work is easy. Kate will bail on the responsibility part five minutes in. Playing with the puppy, yes. Waking up when the little thing starts crying at four in the morning? Not so much. Not that I’m unwilling to _help_ , but…”  
  
“We won’t let it all fall on you. And it doesn’t have to be a puppy,” Mark says. “We could adopt from a shelter, one that’s a few years old. Nothing rat-sized, but nothing too big and nothing too high-energy, either.”   
  
“It also can’t be anything that sheds constantly. And nothing that sleeps on our bed. Preferably one that’s never on furniture at all. And…” she smiles and runs her fingers along a brow, giving this some more thought. “Okay. Okay. We also have to find a dog that likes kids, of course.”  
  
“Wait.” Mark’s eyes widen. “Really?” And Addison nods, releasing a sigh that is half-enthusiasm and half-resignation. “Kate and Henry are going to be so excited, Red.”  
  
“Don’t tell our stitches-inducing children yet. I don’t want them to think each time we go to an animal rescue place means we’re coming home with a dog. I want us to be able to take our time with this.”   
  
“Two kids, a house, and a dog. Aren’t we a cliché.”  
  
Addison leans in to kiss him. “The best kind though.”   
  
They bring home a Beagle mix in late September. It utterly shocks them that _anyone_ would willingly part with Rosie, who is estimated to be around three years old. She is affectionate, sweet with their kids, doesn’t bark _too_ often, has zero interest in destroying Addison’s shoes, and doesn’t beg for food but sure loves it when Kate and Henry slip carrots to her under the dinner table. Kate picked the name Rosie. _She looks like a Rosie_ , Kate decides, but Taylor is a close second. Mark and Addison like the name, and Henry is able to pronounce it, so Rosie Sloan she is. And Mark was right about one thing: Rosie loves all four of them, but she loves Addison most of all.   
  
\------  
  
The lumbering crusade of thunder has been shifting overhead for as long they have been asleep, but Mark is not quite convinced that the most recent round is the specific noise that caused him to wake up. He blinks in the darkness, not quite prepared when a stroke of lightning cuts across the sky and illuminates the walls of their bedroom; it feels just as unpleasant as a light being turned on with zero warning. He squeezes his eyes shut and then opens them again, grappling for more coherent thoughts. The sound that first registered for Mark seemed more like a whimper, not thunder.  
  
“You okay, Red?” He murmurs, pulling her closer. Addison is already tucked against him, and feels weighed down in a way that indicates slumber, but Mark is currently fighting to stay awake so it’s hard to tell what’s real and what isn’t. Plus, it’s her. He has to know that she’s okay.   
  
Addison stirs a little. “Hmm?” She says sleepily. “What…?”  
  
“Oh.” Mark frowns. _Shit_. It wasn’t her. And he doesn’t hear anything now. It was just the one sound. The _maybe_ sound. He could have been wrong, and as Addison has pointed out on more than one occasion, he _is_ wrong about a lot of things. “Sorry, I thought you…” Mark wants to tell her to just go back to sleep, but Addison pops up on an elbow before he can. She is straining to hear, and now Mark knows he didn’t imagine it, that there’s noise beyond the angry storm elements battering around the city tonight.  
  
“Is he crying?” Addison asks, more to herself than to Mark.  
  
And then they flinch – question asked and answered – when they hear their son’s voice, laced with fear.   
  
“Mommmmmy. Dadddddy.”  
  
They scramble out of bed and move quickly up the stairs to the third floor, knowing the wailing is the result of either a nightmare or the storm – or a combination of the two. They want nothing more than to get to Henry so he knows they are here (and also get to him ideally before his crying wakes up his sister).  
  
They took the baby monitor out about a year ago, which, Addison once said dramatically, meant severing all nighttime communication with Henry. It was necessary though, because it didn’t matter how stealthy they tried to be; Henry was always able to locate the monitor, and it became the visual version of “Personal Jesus” for him. The monitor thoroughly amused him, and he wouldn’t sleep if it was in eyesight. But now there’s Rosie, at least. She has a dog bed in the hallway between the kids’ rooms, but sometimes she’ll go into Kate’s room at night, and she almost always pokes her snout between the slats of Henry’s crib when she hears him stir in the morning. _The crib_. It’s another reason they feel bad in this particular situation. Kate at least has the option to get out of bed and run to their room if something frightens her. Henry can’t exactly do that. He has acquired as many bruises as Kate probably did at this age, but in certain respects, he is far more sensible, or at least as “sensible” as a toddler can be. Kate transitioned to a toddler bed early because of her interest in climbing out of her crib; Henry seems to understand that attempting to hoist himself out of the crib won’t end well. Besides, if he wants to get out in the morning, yelling works, too. Happy, pleasant yelling though.   
  
This is crying and screaming. And both Mark and Addison’s hearts sink when they find the silhouette of their little boy hidden under a blanket patterned with hot air balloons, his back wedged against one of the far corners of the crib. Rosie is indeed by his crib, but there isn’t much she can do other than whine and make snuffle-nosed sounds through the wooden slats. Mark turns on the bedroom light while Addison goes to get Henry.  
  
“Henry…” Addison pulls the blanket off him and quickly scoops him into her arms. “Oh, Hennybug. It’s okay, sweet boy. You’re okay.”  
  
“Loud,” Henry weeps into her neck, coating her skin with his tears.   
  
“I know,” she answers, kissing his temple. “I know the storm is loud right now. Did it wake you up, baby?” She draws her palm along his face, wiping at tears and the sheen of sweat breaking out over his skin. “Okay,” she adds when Henry nods. “Well, you’re safe now. Daddy and I are right here.”  
  
“Dad?” Kate appears in the doorway, rubbing blearily at her eyes. “Is Henry okay?” Rosie wanders over to her, so Kate reaches down to pet her, but her eyes stay on her dad while she waits for an answer.  
  
Mark gives her a reassuring smile. “He’s okay, buddy. The storm woke him. He’s okay though. You should go back…” he trails off when Kate walks across the room to where Addison is holding Henry, swaying her hips back and forth as she attempts to soothe him. Mark follows after Kate.   
  
“This is like a team huddle…” Kate says when they form some semblance of a circle, all eyes on Henry, who is still whimpering. “But…sadder.”  
  
Addison grins weakly at this observation. “And with a bit more crying.”  
  
“Yeah. Except for the time when we lost with only two minutes left to the Wildcats. Everyone on the team cried then.”  
  
“That’s true…” Addison acknowledges. “Kate, you should get back to bed. Henry will be fine. You have school in the -”  
  
“Or…” Kate holds up a second finger to provide another example. “When Elisa got that really bad cut on her lip.”  
  
“Luckily there was a very handsome doctor at that soccer game who was able to help with that one,” Mark says. “Now, Kate -”  
  
“I know, I know,” she interrupts with an eye roll that Mark and Addison now see on occasion. “Can I say goodnight to Henry first? I want to give him a hug.”  
  
“Yes…” Addison kneels down slowly, doing her best to remain coordinated with thirty pounds of heavy-breathing toddler attached to her. She can still feel the smooth slopes of her son’s calves latched tightly around her waist when her knees touch the carpet, but before she can warn Kate that her brother might not be willing to let go of Mommy, Henry shakily sets his feet down and turns towards Kate’s cooing voice.   
  
Addison watches as her daughter takes on traits of both parents, and whether learned or just natural, she isn’t sure. Kate’s words are comforting and soft like her mother’s, and she runs her palm between Henry’s shoulder blades while she holds him, just like her father would. And she’s _Kate,_ formerly Tate. Of course Henry would want to say goodnight. He thinks his sister hung all the stars.  
  
“What?” Kate asks gently, cocking her head to hear Henry better. Rosie nuzzles against Henry’s shoulder, momentarily distracting him, but then he whispers his request again and Kate nods. “Teddy. Okay. I’ll get him for you, Hen. Here, go with Mommy.” She nudges her brother back towards Addison, and then goes to grab Henry’s teddy bear, his favorite sleep companion and, if you were to ask him, his favorite toy. Well, _guy_ actually. Henry always says _guys_ instead of _toys_. Kate adores this about him. “Dad?” Kate looks at Mark while she slips her hands between the crib slats to get Teddy. She pulls the bear up one hand at a time, using a system that reminds her of a fist bump game she and some classmates used to play in first grade: something about bubblegum in a dish. “You’re going to let Henry sleep with you tonight, right? He’s scared. It would be really mean if you didn’t let him.”  
  
“Well, it’s a good thing your mom and I aren’t mean,” Mark says, holding back a smile. “Yeah, he’s gonna stay with us. And you need to get to bed, little miss. Come on, I’ll tuck you back in.”   
  
\------  
  
Giggles and whimpers. After Mark has left Kate’s room, this is the noise he follows after. He knows the whimpers are because his son is still a little upset, and as far as the giggles, he is pretty sure he knows the answer to that, too.  
  
He’s right. He walks into their bedroom – lights dimmed just a tad, which is how their room will stay for the remainder of the night – to find Addison and Henry in the middle of the bed, snuggled under the comforter. Addison is holding Henry, and Henry is holding Teddy. Mark arrives just in time to hear his wife sing-speak, “You know I’m a forgiver. Reach out and touch faith…”  
  
“Your own personal Jesus,” Mark answers in a low, rumbly voice that makes Henry laugh. And then the wind and rain pick up their pace once more, slapping against windows and cutting through tree branches with enough force to drag some of the remaining leaves to the ground. Henry squeezes his eyes shut tight and buries his face in Teddy’s fur.   
  
Mark climbs into bed and scoots close, lining his pillow next to the one Addison and Henry are sharing. He rests his hand on his son’s tear-stained cheek. “Hey there, little man,” he whispers. Henry inhales shakily and opens his eyes, blinking at his father with an anxious expression. His eyelashes are starting to dry in clumps from his tears. “You doing okay?” Mark asks.  
  
“Loud. Boom.” Henry says, words split by a hiccup.  
  
“I know,” Mark responds. “I know it’s loud, but you’re safe. Nothing is going to hurt you. I promise.”  
  
“Monster?”  
  
“No monsters,” Addison says. She drops her chin to kiss Henry’s head. “There’s no monsters, Henry. None inside and none outside. And Daddy and I are right here.”  
  
“Kate?”  
  
“Kate’s sleeping in her room. And Rosie’s with her.”  
  
Mark and Addison warble their way through a passably decent version of “You Are My Sunshine,” but it becomes clear their son isn’t feeling soothed by the lullaby, and he also didn’t giggle when they tried “Personal Jesus” again, so instead they focus on physical comfort and reassurances. Addison cuddles Henry closer, his back against her chest, and Mark drapes an arm over them both. They whisper gentle, loving words, reminding Henry that he’s okay.  
  
“You’re such a brave boy, Henry,” Addison murmurs. Henry tilts his head back towards his mother when she says this. _Brave_. He has heard the word before. And seen it. Brave is people who slay dragons. Brave is Merida and the tapestry. Brave is Balto. Brave is Kate, who dives if she needs to when fielding ground balls. And brave is Mommy and Daddy and Batman and the big kids at Riverside Skate Park.   
  
“Brave means all kinds of things,” she continues when the look on Henry’s face remains quizzical. Addison suspects Henry won’t understand most of this, but she needs to tell him anyway. “Your daddy taught me that one.” She gives Mark a quick smile. “And tonight, Henry, you were scared, but you _also_ used your big boy voice so that Daddy and I could hear you and come get you. That’s brave, Henry. You’re a brave boy.”  
  
“Brave…” Henry says, a shy smile tugging his lips apart. “I brave.”  
  
“Mm-hmm.” Addison kisses his cheek. “But even brave boys need rest. Try to close your eyes and sleep now, okay? Daddy and I are right here. And…” she adds, wanting to get ahead of roll-call. “Teddy is here, too. And Kate and Rosie are in Kate’s room. We’re all here and we’re all going to keep you safe.”  
  
They watch their son’s head bobble as he pushes back against sleep, his warm weight snuggled between them, but then finally, _finally_ Henry’s eyelids flutter shut and his breathing evens against Mark’s collarbone. They give it a few minutes, not wanting to take any chances.  
  
“You okay, Red?” Mark whispers. Addison’s gaze feels far away when she peers back at him.  
  
“Yeah, just…” she manages a small smile. “I know he’s fine, but that was heartbreaking.”  
  
“It really was. And now…” Mark stands up, grabbing for his pillow and coming to the other side of the bed. “And now you’re going to keep cuddling with him and I’m going to be sappy and cuddle with you.”  
  
“Thank you,” Addison whispers when he folds an arm over her. She hadn’t realized how much she needed this after all of _that_.   
  
“You know…I wasn’t under the impression that I taught you _anything_.”  
  
Addison smirks. “Rarely, but you have your moments. Want me to jog your memory?”  
  
“I think you might have to. I taught you how to set up a tent – not that you wanted to – but that’s the only thing that comes to mind recently.”  
  
“This wasn’t that recent. It was when I was pregnant with Kate. Like, thirty-five or thirty-six weeks, and I –”  
  
“Oh,” Mark interjects. “The really bad one. Yeah, I – I remember. You were upset and you were having a panic attack, but you wanted me to focus on Kate. To make sure that she wasn’t scared.”  
  
“Yes. Except…not Kate. It was Pickle-Kate then,” she corrects with a smile, which makes Mark chuckle lightly into her neck. “During that – well, that whole first year – sometimes rain was difficult, especially at night. But you helped me get through it. And then I helped myself get through it. So as long as Henry has us, he’ll be just fine. He’s brave, but in his own way.”  
  
“He definitely is,” Mark says. “He’s brave and strong just like you.”  
  
“And he’s my sunshine.”  
  
Mark nods in agreement. “And he’s your sunshine.”  
  
\------  
  
It takes three years to get a fancy Bellevue fundraiser “do-over.” The year after Addison’s dad died, the event didn’t end up falling on the _exact_ date Henry Montgomery passed away, but it was close enough and Addison still felt much too raw to attempt to go. And then last year, Kate and Henry were both getting over colds, so they skipped out.   
  
Addison gets ready with her children close by, both seated on the center island in the dressing room. Getting ready with them makes the process a little more fun, but infinitely slower; there are pauses and disruptions along the way, and not just because of requests for more snacks. Addison puts a little blush on Kate and Henry at their requests – subtler for Kate, and then more pronounced for Henry when he asks for “more.” She does Henry’s cheeks the way most little ones think blush is applied: strong, circular motions, painted pink like the cheeks of a porcelain doll. And then a tiny amount of mascara on Kate’s outer eyelashes because she won’t stop asking. None for Henry, but luckily he seems too distracted with one of the “guys” in his lap to notice.   
  
“Boys can wear mascara too if they want,” Kate says defensively, which fills Addison with happiness. She assures her daughter that yes, they can. But not little boys who sometimes rub at their eyes. Or little boys who will probably run away yelling because they believe makeup remover wipes are going to sting.  
  
Henry looks up with a soft gasp when he hears the paw nail clattering sound of Rosie going down the stairs – a sure sign Mark has arrived home. “Daddy,” Henry announces to Addison and Kate.   
  
“Mm-hmm. Stay there, please.” Addison requests, mascara wand hovering near her lashes as she meets her son’s eyes in the mirrored closet, just in case Henry gets any ideas. It’s not that far of a jump from the island to the floor. “He’ll come up here to see you.”  
  
“Mom?” Kate asks. She gestures with a flip of her hand towards the dress on a nearby hanger, shimmering as its rose gold sequins catch in edges of sunlight. “How are you gonna get your dress on without messing up your makeup?”   
  
Addison gives her a smile. “I have my ways.”  
  
“Wow,” Mark says when he reaches their bedroom, Rosie at his heels. “You’re all so busy in here.”  
  
“We’re helping Mom get ready,” Kate says calmly while Henry squeals _Daddy_ at full volume. “And me and Henry even get to wear a little makeup, too. Can you see?”  
  
“I can.” Mark tips Kate’s chin up with his thumb. “You look beautiful, Kate.”  
  
He moves over to greet his son next. Henry closes his eyes, as though that makes the blush more visible.   
  
“And _you_ look beautiful too, little guy. Beautiful and handsome.” He kisses his son on top of his golden brown head and then moves onto his wife, opting for a hello and an affectionate pat on the waist, knowing that Addison won’t tolerate her makeup being ruined or a curl disrupted. _Yet_ , anyway. They are dropping the kids off at Savvy and Weiss’s on their way to the fundraiser, located at a midtown hotel, and they will be staying at the hotel for the night.   
  
“Dad…” Kate smirks. “Ask Henry what style dress mom is going to wear.”  
  
“Are you teaching him the names of designers already?”  
  
“Yeah. But Dad, I said _style_ , not designer. You know, _style_. Like how the dress is shaped. Like -”  
  
“The silhouette,” Mark says, amused when Kate raises both eyebrows in surprise. “See? I know things, Katiebee.”  
  
“Ignore her question, Mark,” Addison interrupts with a roll of her eyes. “It’s…” she glances over at Henry, who seems distracted with one of his guys again. “It’s a _sheath_ style dress. But that’s not exactly how your son pronounces it.”  
  
Mark looks at Kate and shakes his head. “And so _you’re_ just trying to get Henry to keep saying a word that ends up sounding an awful lot like a certain four letter word, aren’t you?” He tries to fight it, but ends up returning Kate’s smirk.  
  
“Mom says that I’m like this because of you.”  
  
“You definitely are.”  
  
\------  
  
Mark follows Addison. It’s habit, really, and has been true since long before the first time they wound up in bed together: he would follow her anywhere. Therefore, it’s no surprise to either of them that Mark doesn’t think to question the unconventional path Addison takes between tables fifteen and sixteen, going in a completely different direction near table fourteen with a hard left that almost gets them caught between Ligurian-designed chairs halfway pulled out. Bronze-speckled votive candle holders flicker against stiff blue tablecloths as they make their way around the remaining tables.  
  
“Sorry,” Addison murmurs when they arrive near the front of the ballroom, where a space has been cleared for dancing. “I saw a surgeon who I know would have talked my ear off.”  
  
“I figured you had a plan,” Mark answers, taking her into his arms and molding his hands around her hips. She has on a gown similar to the one she wore a few years ago, minus the maternity part. Sequins shimmer with each movement, and her muscles stretch smoothly between the draped cowl-back material. “I told you how much I love this dress on you, right?”  
  
“You did.” Addison smiles at him. She’s fine with hearing it again though. “And we’ve done our duty socializing with the board and telling them all about procedures way over their collective heads and upcoming publications. Now let’s just dance for a few songs.”  
  
“And then go upstairs and defile our hotel room?”  
  
“Gross. But, also…yes.”   
  
\------


	60. For a Long, Long Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Honestly, just like 100% extra-gooey fluff. Thank you, truly, for reading (or rereading) this beast of a story, if that is something you did in this absolute dumpster fire of a year. I have other things I am planning on sharing (or re-sharing) in the near-ish future, but as this is truly my fic!baby, this one and the original version will always hold a special place in my otherwise cold black heart. This fic has/had a sequel as well (more just like a series of one-shots), and although that is not next on my list to write or revisit, it's not off the table. Thanks for reading and reviewing! <3

**Chapter 60. For a Long, Long Time**  
  
It’s the sixth night in a row they’ve gone for a walk, and even though they do the same route each time, each time still feels a little like the first. Kate and Henry will sometimes pick out a new detail – penguin window clings they hadn’t noticed before or a festive garden stake that was mostly hidden under fresh snow the previous night, for example – but for the most part, they marvel over the same holiday decorations and make the same exact comments. _Christmas makes everything more magical though, and eight and two are such fun ages_ , Addison thinks. Not that there haven’t been moments recently where she’d love to lock the kids out of the house, because there definitely have been. She and Mark agree the holiday season is exhausting with children. Fun, yes, but _exhausting_.   
  
These nightly walks are calming though. Their neighborhood has been utterly transformed this December. Snow-tipped wreaths hang from front doors; seasonal greenery and bows are twisted around iron railings; a few lingering dreidel banners droop from visible mantles; colorful lights are stretched snugly around windows; and acrylic snowmen, reindeer sets, and assorted inflatables (Kate’s favorite is the snow globe, and Henry likes the polar bear one) are displayed on stoops and walkway steps.   
  
“Just look, Henry,” Addison warns. Her son is balanced on Mark’s shoulders, and she has issued this reminder each time they pass beneath one of the trees lining the sidewalk. At his newfound height advantage, Henry is tall enough to graze his fingers against the starlight spheres and ornaments (plastic, at least) dangling from bare branches. “Looking and no touching.” Not for the first time, Addison feels a sharp pang when she remembers that Henry – her _baby_ – will be three next month. She already feels wistful for age two, even though many, many things about Henry will not change just because he will turn three. Addison is certain her son will still want to make cars or houses out of discarded cardboard boxes, fold his fingers near his ears when he’s tired, and say “oh thank you” instead of just “thank you.” He will still think chocolate milk comes from brown cows and he won’t wipe his mother’s kisses off his cheeks just yet.  
  
“Mommy?” Henry says, neither acknowledging nor ignoring her request. “Will Santa -”  
  
“It’s too early for him to come,” Kate interrupts, knowing exactly where this is heading. Her parents would have probably needed to hear the rest of the question. “We have time to put out milk and cookies. Plus, Santa only comes when kids are sleeping…not when they’re outside.”  
  
“That’s definitely right,” Addison says. She glances down at her daughter, who is rather sweetly holding her hand this Christmas Eve. Kate peeks up at her with a conspiratorial grin. She started making inquiries last month and eventually reached the conclusion there is no Santa. But, luckily, she knows not to ruin this for her brother and seems to delight in making the season special for him.  
  
“Back home?” Henry pipes up when they reach the end of the block.   
  
Addison and Mark exchange a smile. “Back home,” they answer, whispery clouds of breath shadowing the warmth of their words.  
  
\------  
  
“Dad…” Kate looks back at the beach, where her mom and Henry are comfortably situated under the canopy tent. Henry actually fell asleep a few minutes ago, body stretched out like a starfish – _a miracle_ , according to both parents. Kate sees her mom hold up a hand in an encouraging wave. Kate tries to smile in response, even though there is no way her mother can see her smile from here. She can’t wave back though; she’s much too nervous to let go. “Dad?” She says again, voice sharper, not sure if he heard her over the rumbling of the ocean.  
  
“My feet are still touching the ground,” Mark answers calmly. As soon as the water reached Kate’s shoulders, her arms and legs went around him, tangling like stubborn seaweed. He can’t remember the last time he held her like this. _At least four years_ , Mark figures. “I promise I won’t go any further. And if you want to go back to shore, that’s okay, too,” he adds as gently as he can. Kate was the one who wanted to try to swim out here (or at least _wanted_ to want to), but only if Mark came with her. She’s grown several inches in the past year, but in this moment, at age nine, she looks so young and so old all at once. Mark notices the droplets of saltwater on her exposed skin, a series of atomic seas clinging to her narrow shoulders. The end hairs of her red ponytail – the same head-turning color as her mother’s – have been moistened by the water.   
  
“Henry would like to be this far out. He probably…” Kate tries to sound good-humored rather than embarrassed that her brother would not be worried, nor would he be sitting on their dad’s hip if they switched places. “He probably wouldn’t even want to hold onto you…” she mumbles the last part, feeling like a giant baby. And she never _used_ to be a giant baby about going past her knees in the ocean.  
  
_Which is exactly why I wouldn’t bring that little maniac this far out_ , Mark thinks.   
  
“That’s because Henry is three. He just thinks of the ocean as another place to play,” Mark tells her. “He doesn’t think about it the way you do. You’ve learned about it in units at school, and in other things you’ve read.” Mark doesn’t say the words Kate has mentioned several times recently: _currents_ and _undertows_. He can’t remember their daughter ever being afraid of swimming in the ocean before this trip, but he and Addison have come to the conclusion it’s not an unusual fear to have pop up. And it’s not as easy to resolve as a toddler-Kate being afraid of the vacuum cleaner; they showed her there was no way the vacuum could suck her up. Kate’s sudden apprehension about everything lurking under the ocean’s surface is a bit more valid.  
  
“I’m not afraid,” Kate says, voice quivering. “I’m not.”  
  
“I know you’re not afraid. You’re very brave. But…just so you know, you’re safe with me. And you can tell me if you want to go back.” Mark waits, but his daughter doesn’t say anything. He hears her rushed intake of air though when they briefly lift up with one of the waves. “Hey, Kate? Tell me five places you want to visit one day. Don’t think about it too hard. Just name five places. I know you’re _not_ afraid, but sometimes it helps to think about other things instead of the things you’re…not afraid of.”  
  
“Okay. Um.” Kate looks at him, blue eyes and dark lashes blinking in the sunshine. It’s the first time in the past few minutes that Mark has seen take her eyes off the shoreline. “Australia. Italy. Alaska. The Galápagos Islands – I don’t actually know where that is, but I like the name and I bet it’s really pretty there. And, um. Somewhere where I can go inside a sea cave. Oh, and Egypt. I want to see the pyramids. Well. That’s actually six.”  
  
“Six is fine. Those all sound really good to me. Let’s see what else…name five things you can see on dry land right now.”  
  
“Just things…or can it be people?”  
  
“People, too. Whatever you want.”  
  
“Okay. Mommy. Henry. The canopy. Our house. And…” her mouth slashes into a grin as a giggle overtakes her. She technically can’t _see_ it from here, but she knows it’s still on their porch: “Drew’s sandal.”  
  
Mark laughs at this last one, too. Savvy and Weiss and the twins were here for a few days, but had to cut out early for a summer get-together with Weiss’s side of the family. “Now…” Mark shakes his head. “Are you sure you want to marry a boy who isn’t smart enough to remember to check to make sure he’s packed _both_ sandals?”  
  
“ _Dad_. You forget things all the time and mom still wanted to marry you.”  
  
“That’s true. Hey, did I ever tell you Cape Cod is where I proposed to your mom?” Mark gestures towards the parchment-white sand. “Not too far from where your mom and Henry are right now. We were in the water, though – just up to our ankles.”   
  
“You asked Mom to marry you while you were in the _water_?”  
  
“Yep. And it was raining, too.” He smirks when Kate wrinkles her nose. “I know it seems weird, but it was a good proposal. Ask your mom if you don’t believe me.”  
  
“Was I there?” Kate asks, of course wanting to know where she fits into all of this.  
  
“You were with Aunt Sav and Uncle Weiss. We were all on vacation together, but you stayed with them at a hotel one night so I could propose to your mom. We went and picked you up the next morning though so we could celebrate together. It’s kind of tough to hold a baby and propose at the same time. And it was good practice for Sav and Weiss – the twins arrived not too long after that.” He pauses, watching her closely. “You doing okay, buddy?”  
  
“Yeah,” Kate answers. She has no intention of letting go, but Mark can tell she’s more relaxed in his embrace and a little less anxious. “It’s weird to think there was a time that me and Em and Drew weren’t friends. Like a time that I didn’t know them. _And_ that there was a time that Savvy and Weiss didn’t know them, either. Because…” Kate inhales deeply so she can catch her breath. Mark still feels right in his assessment that she’s a little less anxious, but only a _little_. She’s working through something in her head in that thoughtful, contemplative way of hers, but she tends to speak quickly like her mother when she’s nervous. “Like, because…Mom was pregnant with us, so we weren’t surprises. And Mom said that you guys loved me and Henry before you even knew us. So, before we were actually born.”  
  
“That’s true.”  
  
“Savvy and Weiss didn’t know for sure that Leslie was going to ask them to be Emmy and Drew’s parents though. So they really didn’t know the twins before they were born. Except, actually…” Kate pauses, considering something. “They _did_ know they _wanted_ to adopt a baby or babies, so maybe they did love their kids before they knew them…in some sort of way. I mean, I loved Henry before I knew him.” Kate shrugs, water sluicing off her forearms. “And so maybe I loved Emily and Drew before I knew them, too…which means so did Savvy and Weiss. I think maybe you _can_ love someone before you actually get to be together forever.”  
  
Mark smiles. His gaze flickers towards Addison. “I think so, too.”  
  
\------  
  
They’re enjoying this more because they never get to do this. _Well, that’s inaccurate_ , Addison thinks as they exchange slow, lusty kisses. She didn’t quite finish the thought once the groping beneath the sheets started, shortly after her husband kissed her awake. The truth is they still do a _lot_ of this. But they don’t get to do this in the _morning_ , for the most part. Not when the desire to sleep in as late as they can manage on a weekday trumps anything else, and not with a ten year-old and a four year-old who are loud and needy all the time, especially in the morning when they are trying to get out the door.  
  
But this is the weekend and their kids are far, far away at the moment. Everything in their Vermont rental home is quiet this morning, save for heavy breathing through slow, deliberate thrusts, and the slight rasp of the mattress wiggling beneath their tangled limbs. Side-by-side this time, they have the opportunity to alternate between holding each other close and exploring each other more freely with their hands, to build up the pleasure gradually (as opposed to a still-really-great, but more frantic pace behind a locked bedroom door), to see everything they are doing to one another where they are connected, and to preserve a meaningful, deep connection.  
  
The end is anything but gradual though. The repositioning of a leg, the seizing of muscles, and the caressing of a few well-placed fingers ensure that they come together, voices heady as they reach an explosive, staggeringly enjoyable finish.  
  
“Hi,” Addison murmurs breathlessly, cuddling into Mark’s chest when he rolls onto his back, using a hand to tug her with him. “And, wow…good morning.”  
  
“Hi and good morning yourself.” His fingers play with her hair, still soft but now a bit tousled. Addison cut it shorter a few weeks ago, and though she likes the change, she is planning to let it grow out again. “What do you want to do today?”  
  
“Sleep some more. And sleep with _you_ some more. FaceTime the monsters at some point. And whatever else you want to do. You can take me somewhere nicer tomorrow night for dinner though since that will be our actual anniversary.” She hears Mark make a noise of agreement, and feels his chin bobble above her head as he nods. Addison closes her eyes, and though she is sleepy, she can’t quite fall back to sleep yet. And Mark is still running a hand over her upper back, so she knows he hasn’t gone back to sleep yet either. “Mark?” She asks quietly. She opens one eye just enough to see snow curving to the ground outside their window. “When did… when did you know that you wanted me to be yours?”  
  
“ _That’s_ a cheesy one.”  
  
“Are you surprised?”  
  
“No,” Mark replies truthfully. “But I guess I expected it more on the eleventh or twelfth anniversary. Not number tin.”  
  
(The ten-year gift is _tin_. So this year is their Tin-iversary, according to Mark. They both know it isn’t serious when Addison threatens to divorce him over his stupid puns, but she continues to make the threats anyway.)   
  
Addison pouts a little at this accusation. “You think I’m going to be a little weird on the day it ends up being eleven years? And on year twelve when I officially have my longest marriage streak ever?”  
  
“No, not think.” Mark brushes his lips to her hairline. “I _know_ you’re gonna be a little weird, Red. But in a cute way.”  
  
“Well, at least it’s a cute-weird, I guess. Anyway, back to my original, cheese-filled question.”  
  
Mark thinks he’s answered some version of this before. Slightly different wording, he figures, because she has a freakishly good memory. And at any rate, it’s hard to pinpoint. One day he just knew that he loved her. He loved her then, as he loves her now. So he tells her this much.   
  
“But I guess…” Mark adds. “I know the feelings started _well_ before this, but to give you a concrete example, there was this day when we were walking down Lexington. We just had lunch at some Italian place. It was supposed to be the three of us, but Derek wasn’t able to make it. And as we were leaving the restaurant, because you’re _you_ , you were wearing heels while it was still icy on the ground. It was at the end of December, I think. Or actually, yeah, it definitely was, because we were talking about how weird the time between Christmas and New Years is. So it would have been a couple months before…”  
  
“I kissed you and you kissed me back,” she finishes. It’s more involved than that, of course, but that’s how they think of it now.   
  
“Right. And at one point while we were walking, you stumbled a bit – the shoes thing. And probably a few glasses of wine, too. So like the devilishly handsome superhero that I am though, I caught you before you ate it, and I just remember…I didn’t want to let you go.” His words soften at the end. “What about you? I know it’s different for you, but…was there a particular moment?”  
  
Addison smiles. “More like…a bunch of little moments. I think I loved you long before I allowed myself to think it though, let alone say it. The first night I slept over at your place though, when you held me. And then there was this one morning early on where we were spooning and you kissed my shoulder while you thought I was sleeping – it was really sweet. And when you helped me breathe. And when you took me to Cape Cod for the first time. But I guess more than a moment, it was mostly just that…you saw me. I might not have noticed as much before we kissed for the first time, but not long afterwards it dawned on me that every time I had felt invisible in my thirties, there you were – seeing me. You always saw me.”  
  
“Okay, you win, Red. Or lose, depending on your perspective. Your thing is cheesier.”  
  
“Maybe just a little. But since I’m not invisible and you still see me -”  
  
“Hey…” Mark grins when she starts to climb on top of him. “I thought weird pick-up lines were my thing.”  
  
“Trust me: they still are.”  
  
\------  
  
“Fine. Ten more minutes!” Addison calls back from her spot on the beach blanket when the kids start to whine and thoroughly protest yet another request from her that they come out of the water – knee-deep only when no parents are in the ocean with them – so they can pack up for the day and head back to the house. It’s another weekend in Cape Cod, late summer. Today the eleven year-old is sassy and the five and-a-half year old could do a much better job of listening. “Just…” she lowers her voice so only Mark can hear. “Just please shut up and leave me alone for all ten of those minutes.”  
  
“Amen,” Mark answers. “Might as well let them have the extra time though. It’ll be their last swim for a while.” They are heading back to the city tomorrow. They plan to come up to the Cape a few more times in the fall and are going to be here for Christmas with Addison’s mother, but it will be far too cold to get in the water again until late spring.  
  
Addison smirks at this comment. “Not if your son has his way in a few months. The other coastline might be snow-less, but that doesn’t mean the water is going to be warm…not that this will stop him.”  
  
“Right. He told me California, but he didn’t say -”  
  
“Monterey. Specifically, the Monterey Bay Aquarium. There’s a kelp forest there that’s supposed to be like three stories tall. He’s excited to see the otters, sharks, and jellyfish, but he keeps coming back to the kelp – no idea why. And then he wants to put his feet in the Specific, aka the _Pacific_ Ocean. And then I guess we’ll hit a few other coastal spots while we’re out there.”  
  
“California in the winter,” Mark grins. “Lucky you guys. And lucky little guy, getting to go on a special trip with his mom. We’re those parents, aren’t we? The obnoxious ones who pull their kids out of school, like, right after winter break?”  
  
“It’s just one trip while he’s in Kindergarten. Plus…babies don’t keep. And neither do littles,” she says, voice prickling with emotion. Kate and Henry are both so _big_ now, and watching this happen feels like pride, warmth, and heartache all at once.  
  
“You’re telling me. What’s the deal with the older one, by the way? She’s been doing this weird hair-flipping thing in front of Andrew lately.”  
  
Addison laughs. “I think the word you’re looking for is _flirting_.”   
  
“Please just kill me now.”  
  
“Nope. Sorry, Mark, but if I have to suffer through the pre-teen and teen years, so do you.”  
  
\------  
  
“Both asleep…” Addison announces that night when she comes back downstairs. The beach house stairs creak beneath her feet, and outside, rain is lightly falling. Thankfully the rain held off until they were inside for the evening. “Rosie, too.”  
  
Mark nods and gives her a smile. “Good. Not that that’s going to be _us_ anytime soon. Coffee after dinner was a terrible idea.”  
  
“True. We are kind of stupid sometimes. Hey though…” she grins. “Wanna do something else that isn’t particularly well-advised?”  
  
“I…think so?”  
  
She smirks. “Good answer. Wanna go hang on the porch swing for a bit?”  
  
“I’d love to.”  
  
Mark gets settled on the swing first, and then holds his arms out for his wife. It will be eleven years of marriage this December. And twelve of being together. Eleven and twelve beautiful years. Challenging and grueling at times, yes. But mostly just beautiful. Mark asked Addison recently while they were figuring out a few trip-related things for their family, if she wanted to do something special for their eleventh anniversary, something different than an expected weekend in Cape Cod or maybe Vermont. _No_ , she told him. Cape Cod was perfect.   
  
“This makes me think of you,” Addison says quietly, voice cutting over the rumbling of the ocean in the distance.  
  
“What does?”  
  
“Oh, you know. The rain. And Cape Cod and the porch swing. There are a lot of other things that make me think of you, too…but mostly it’s just the rain. Everything that first year with us, and then you proposed in the rain, but it’s mainly just…when Kate was born, do you remember what you said?”  
  
_Yes_. This one actually has stuck with him.  
  
“I do.” Mark tucks a wispy strand of hair back behind the ridge of her ear. “That it’s raining and we’re a family.”  
  
“Yeah. It’s raining and we’re a family,” Addison repeats. She leans up on an elbow to kiss him, long and soft. Mark kisses her back, entangling his tongue with hers and holding her against him.   
  
“As much as I’d like to stay like this forever…” Addison murmurs later, words sounding dream-like. She has lost track of how much time has passed, so focused she has been on this time with just her husband. “If one of the kids wakes up and needs us…”  
  
“Yeah,” Mark agrees. It’s not likely to happen, but there’s always a chance.  
  
“A few more minutes first though.” Addison settles back down on his chest. “I don’t want this to end _quite_ yet,” she adds. Mark wraps his arms around her. They lie quietly, each noticing that at some point, the rain stopped and the brooding clouds parted overhead. Stars shine back at them now.  
  
_The end._


End file.
